Mutual Affinities
by Darkrat Productions
Summary: Following the revelations of the Season One finale, Sarah, Alison, & Cosima must each decide how they will move on with their lives. However, with the Neolutionists determined to keep their experiment under control and the Prolethians determined to destroy both the project and the clones themselves, life as a clone may prove anything but easy. (Post 1x10 fanfiction; 10 chapters).
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to _Orphan Black _or any of the show's characters, except for those characters expressly created for this work of fiction.

******Mutual Affinities**

"From the most remote period in the history of the world, organic beings have been found to resemble each other in descending degrees, so that they can be classed in groups under groups. This classification is not arbitrary like the grouping of the stars in constellations. The existence of groups would have been of simpler significance, if one group had been exclusively fitted to inhabit the land and another the water; one to feed on flesh, another on vegetable matter, and so on; but the case is widely different, for it is notorious how commonly members of even the same subgroup have different habits." – Charles Darwin, _The Origins of Species_

**I.**

Yellow streetlight squeezes between the black metal letters that decorate the arched window in Felix's apartment, casting long shadows of an upside-down "RIMBAUD" across the floor. A siren wails mournfully in the distance, causing a sleeping Cosima to stir on the couch. Delphine sits on the floor in front of the couch, an open laptop balancing precariously on her knees. She's absent-mindedly biting the tip of her left thumb as she scrolls through the DNA sequence displayed across the laptop's monitor. Her eyelids are drooping and so is her head but she keeps shaking herself awake. As Cosima rolls over in her sleep, her right arm flops out from the depths of the white blanket. The tips of her exposed fingers don't quite touch Delphine, but the motion catches the blonde's attention. She looks over at Cosima's hand then up at the still slumbering brunette. Delphine's smiles sadly watching the other woman sleep for a while, then she gently lifts Cosima's hand and slides it back under the covers. Cosima murmurs something under her breath and Delphine holds her own breath, afraid to make any sound that will cause the other woman to fully rouse. Cosima settles momentarily and Delphine turns back to her laptop. In the blue light of the monitor, streams of backward letters reflect across her face. She worries at the tip of her thumb again with her teeth; scrolling, scrolling, scrolling through the sequence.

The sliding door to the apartment slams open. Delphine jumps to her feet, laptop crashing onto the top of the coffee table in front of her.

"Dancing avocadoes – what?!" Cosima cries, sitting straight up in the couch.

Sarah stands in the doorway, taking in the sight of two women who are both frozen in place, mouths half open. Sarah blinks rapidly, mind filtering in the scene, then her eyes narrow in on the blonde woman and she realizes with a start that this must be Delphine. Delphine, the watcher. Delphine, the liar. Delphine who turned Sarah's name over to Leekie.

"What the hell are you still doing here!" Sarah's voice is guttural, almost predatory. Sarah stalks into the room, flinging an accusatory finger towards Delphine. Felix enters in the raging wake of Sarah, his face resigned and grim. Sarah's momentum carries her forward towards the blonde who is instinctively starting to backpedal.

"Whoa…Sarah…" Cosima manages as she scrambles to her own feet, hands up as if to ward Sarah away. But Sarah doesn't even pause, she smashes past Cosima who splutters and falls momentarily back onto the couch. Before Delphine can even think to turn and run, Sarah's hands are around the immunologist's throat.

With a "whumph" Delphine is dragged several steps and slammed hard against the wall next to the bathroom doorway.

"Where is she?! Where's Kira!" Sarah screams, spittle flying across Delphine's face as the hands around the blonde's neck tighten. Sarah slams Delphine against the wall again. "What did they do with her?!"

Delphine's feet scramble beneath her and as she tries to gasp for air she realizes her esophagus isn't working. In sheer panic she claws at Sarah's hands with her fingernails. Hazel eyes blaze in front of her – eyes somehow so familiar but so terrifyingly not. But this is not Cosima. And she can't breathe. In the din of the blood pounding in her ears Delphine hears Cosima's voice crying out, "No, Sarah! Stop! Stop!"

And then she's there, Cosima, her fingers scrambling against Sarah's, trying to pry her "sister's" hands from Delphine's neck. Just as suddenly Sarah's hands are gone and so is Sarah; she spins away, takes a few steps into the living room area and crumples sobbing onto the couch. Delphine slides down the wall behind her as she sucks in burning air, every nerve ending shaking her frail body. Cosima's fingers flutter gently against Delphine's face, as she bends over the blonde woman. "Are you okay?"

Delphine touches her own neck, still gasping, but her breaths are coming more easily now. Afraid to strain her voice, Delphine merely nods as she stares into the other woman's eyes – hazel eyes turned soft brown with concern. So different and somehow so familiar. Cosima sighs, relieved, and helps lift Delphine up from the floor until the immunologist is able to get her legs back underneath her. Delphine takes another gulp, nods a silent "thank you" as she pats Cosima's arm reassuringly.

Cosima's eyes deepen for a moment as she stares into Delphine's eyes and then suddenly Cosima's warmth is gone as she whips around towards Sarah.

"Sarah – what the hell?!" The edge in Cosima's voice is deep and cutting and for a moment she looms over the hunched figure on the couch, her fists tight at her sides. Sarah gasps between sobs and Cosima's body instantly softens and she kneels next to the other clone. "What the hell?" she says again, but this time all the fight is gone from her voice. "Sarah, what's going on?" But Sarah's face is hidden behind her hands, her knees up against her chest. Her sobs make the whole room feel like its quaking. Cosima looks from Sarah to Felix who has plopped himself into the nearby chair.

"Felix, what happened?"

"Kira…she's missing." He passes a weary hand over his face.

"What?" Cosima gulps and she hears Delphine behind her exhale, "Merde." Cosima glances over her shoulder to see Delphine leaning against the wall, a hand clasped to her face in horror. Their eyes meet briefly before Cosima turns back to Felix.

"What do you mean 'she's missing'? Where is she?"

"If we knew that she wouldn't be bloody missing, now would she?"

"Tell me what happened," Cosima tries again.

"She's just - gone…someone…someone took her," Sarah manages to say between big gasps.

"Oh, Sarah," Cosima says soothingly as she sits next to Sarah on the couch. The scientist throws one of her arms around Sarah's shoulders, holding her tight. Cosima's eyes find Delphine's again. The blonde woman has taken a few steps closer and is now leaning her shins against the edge of the coffee table. Delphine's hand is outstretched as if she wants to comfort Sarah, but realizing what she's about to do she stops, looks helplessly at Cosima. Cosima holds Sarah a little tighter - for the both of them - Sarah sobs again. A moment passes, then Sarah draws a shuddering gasp and, as if a switch has been flipped inside her, she straightens up on the couch, angrily brushing away her tears.

As her resolve firms, Sarah begins to speak, "After I told that Proclone bitch where she could stick it, I went straight back to Mrs. S'. I planned to take Kira and run – as far and as fast as I could. Only – only the house was empty. It'd been ransacked – papers and books everywhere, furniture smashed…I looked and looked but there was nothing, no sign of where Mrs. S and Kira might have gone, no sign of who might have taken them. I went back to the highrise where I'd met Rachel, but the floor she'd been on was empty. I kept telephoning Mrs. S, Paul, Felix – hell, I even called Rachel, but no one would answer. Not until Felix finally picked up; he thought maybe Mrs. S would have ran with Kira, brought her here. But clearly" – she looks around the room – "not."

"Okay…okay…let's think – we just need to think," Cosima says and Delphine can almost hear the gears in the brunette's head start to click into life. "Where would they take her? I mean, assuming it is _them – _Leekie and that Proclone woman."

"You – poodle hair – where would Leekie have taken Kira and Mrs. S?" Felix jabs a finger in Delphine's direction.

"I – I don't know. The only place I've been to is DYAD's Irvine campus, where I work – worked. But they have two other facilities, one in Tokyo and their main headquarters in England. But I swear – I swear, I don't know anything about this –"

"And you just expect us to believe you – after all your lies – the way you fucked with Cosima?!" Sarah demands and Delphine visibly flinches.

"I…I…" Delphine flounders, but Cosima cuts in, "I know you're just trying to defend me, Sarah, but this isn't helping. Delphine's been with me all night and, at least in this instance, I believe her –"

_Bang!_ Someone hammers once on the apartment door. Everyone jumps to their feet.

"Shit, fuck, fuck, shit," Cosima hisses. "Do you think that's them?" Four sets of panicked eyes scramble around the room looking for the closest exit. Delphine reaches towards Cosima and finds Cosima's fingers reaching back. "Should we –" Cosima starts and then the door bangs again.

"Felix! Sarah!" The exasperated hiss sounds faint behind the closed door. "Let me in!"

"Alison?" Felix asks, reaching for the door. He slides it open just a crack at first and then wide enough for Alison to slip through.

"Fuck," Cosima and Sarah breathe in unison. Cosima realizes that her fingers are still brushimg against Delphine's. The two scientists look at each other for a long pause, finally Cosima sits back down on the couch. Delphine eyebrows frown sadly, but then Cosima pats the cushion beside her and Delphine's eyes blaze up hopefully as she slides into the seat next to her.

"You just scared the ever living spunk out of all of us," Felix says, closing the door and slipping the screwdriver back in place.

"Sorry." Alison offers. "But when you called and told me what happened...has there been any word? No? Oh God, Sarah, I'm so, so, sorry –"

"Fuck!" Sarah yells, throwing her arms up in the air, and Alison jumps back. "Everyone's so fucking sorry! God! I can't do this! I can't be here!" She starts towards the door.

"Whoa, whoa –" Felix races forward and jumps in front of the door. "Where are you going?"

"Back to the house! Back to the building where I met that bitch! I don't know! But I can't just stand still!"

"You've already looked both places. No one's there. I know you're upset about Kira, but running away –"

"I'm not running away! I need to be out there looking, Fee!"

"I get it – I do – but tearing apart the town isn't going to get us anywhere."

"Fuck you!" Sarah screams and shoves Felix in the chest. He slams backwards into the metal door with a dull bang, the back of his head connecting hard.

"Ow! Jesus, Sarah!" He cries. "What the hell?" He looks up at his foster sister, testing the back of his pounding head with his hands. The look of shock in his eyes, rocks Sarah in the gut.

"Fee," she says, stumbling forward her hand outstretched towards him; he bats her hand away.

"Get off me!"

"Are you okay, Felix?" Alison asks, protectively stepping in between Felix and Sarah.

"I don't know. Am I bleeding?" Felix leans forward, lets Alison investigate the back of his head with gentle fingers.

"It's okay," she says, "No blood, but there's definitely a goose egg forming." She kisses his cheek, gives him a quick sisterly hug. Alison suddenly rounds on Sarah, her eyes flashing. "How could you?! It's not his fault that Kira's missing!"

There's something about having Alison, of all people, defend Felix that finally hamstrings Sarah's rage. Sarah used to be the one that stood up for Felix like this against all the playground bullies – like a wild animal protecting her young. Instead Felix is looking at Sarah with a wounded expression; she's the bully now.

"Fuck," she whispers, feeling absolutely defeated. Sarah tries to find the words to tell Felix how sorry she is, but she just sucks at the air, before she finally deflates entirely. She turns and slinks away into the kitchen where she leans her elbows on counter, her head in her hands.

The atmosphere in the apartment feels suddenly close and stuffy and the four people left in the living room area glance around nervously at each other. Finally, Felix, who has been rubbing at the back of his head sighs and says, "Drinks?" The murmurs of assent are unanimous and Felix goes into the kitchen for some glasses and as much alcohol as he can carry. As he passes Sarah, he hesitates for a moment then lightly touches her back. "Drinks?"

Sarah laughs miserably and cradles her head as she turns to look at Felix. They stare at each other for a moment, Sarah wordlessly apologizing. Felix finally offers her a small lopsided smile. He pats her arm. "Right then," he says, "help me with the drinkies?"

Sarah laughs wretchedly again and shakes her head at him; ever amazed at his ability to immediately forgive her for all the crap she puts him through. It makes her feel worse, this instant absolution: but the best way she knows how to apologize is by helping him collect the wine glasses.

Out in the living room area Cosima says out of the side of her mouth, "Well, that was – awkward." "Mmm," Delphine agrees.

Alison meanwhile moves closer to the two women, casting glances every so often at Felix and Sarah who are still bustling around the kitchen; they've fallen into a comfortable silence, one that speaks loudly of sibling love. Content that Felix is okay, Alison turns her appraising gaze on Cosima and the woman beside her as she sits down in the chair next to them.

"So," Alison says, waiving towards Delphine, "is this her then? You're – monitor friend?" 'Friend' comes out as if it's a distasteful word in her mouth.

"You mean the person I had sex with, even though I knew she was my monitor?" Cosima asks, drawing out the word 'sex'. "Yes, Alison, this is Delphine."

Alison's right eyelid twitches involuntarily. But then her ingrained social graces win out and she inclines her head at Delphine, "It's nice to meet you."

"Et vous, bonjour." Delphine says almost automatically; her scientific mind spinning through everything she's ever read about nature versus nurture as she can't help but compare the woman in front of her to the woman by her side and the woman in the kitchen. Her fingers itch to start jotting down her comparative observations.

"You're French!" Alison says, suddenly excited. "Cosima, you didn't tell me she was French." Alison leans towards Delphine and rattles out, "Français était ma matière préférée à l'école secondaire et puis j'ai obtenu mon mineur en elle à l'université."

"Oh?" Delphine asks, shaking away her analytic thoughts. This is not the time and these are all very real women. "Eh bien, vous parlez très bien."

"Merci," Allison practically twitters, "My mother is French-Canadian on her father's side – so I think Français just runs naturally in the family."

"Seriously?" Cosima drawls. "You do remember that you came out of a Petrie dish."

"Well…" Alison eyes dart back and forth between Cosima and Delphine. She rolls her shoulders back and then becomes very caught up in straightening her pink blouse.

"Who wants to get plastered?" Felix asks as he and Sarah arrive back in the living room, arms laden with wine glasses and a wine bottle. Three hands reach up and he ceremoniously passes out wine glasses. As he pours the red wine he pausing only a moment before filling Delphine's glass. "I think I have some arsenic to go with it, if you'd like."

"Not helpful, Felix," Cosima hisses.

"Relax, hippy tweakster, I was just joking."

Felix flops down in the chair on the other side of Alison, swashing his glass of wine around. Sarah remains standing just outside the circle of furniture, drinking directly out of a whiskey bottle. Felix takes a long sip of wine then says, "Sooooo…what's the plan. You do have one – right Cosima?"

"Why am I the one that always has to come up with the plan?"

"I thought you were supposed to be, you know, the Brainy Smurf of the Clone Club." He snorts into his wine cup.

Alison's eyes flicker to Delphine as she presses the palm of her hand to her own cheek. "Hmm. I don't want to be rude – but should we be talking about any of this in front of – her?" Alison waves a hand in Delphine's direction.

"She's cool, okay," Cosima offers promptly. "If she hadn't helped, I never would have figured out that the encoded ID in our DNA is actually a patent claim." Sarah grunts into the whisky bottle and Alison hmms again, then splutters, "Wait - what?!"

"Oh shit, Alison," Cosima says, slapping her own forehead with the palm of her hand. "So much has been going on I never even thought to call you. You know the genome that Leekie gave me to look at? Delphine and I were able to crack the sequence – it's a patent; the people that made us, they basically copyrighted our genetic material."

Alison's mouth opens and closes several times like a fish gasping for water.

"Right then," Felix says as he leans forward to pour more wine into everyone's glass.

"But what exactly does that mean? For me – for us? For my family?"

"It means they own our asses. And Kira, too, apparently since she's biologically mine," Sarah explains between swigs of whisky. She's prowling now, pacing back and forth behind the couch. Her phone is in her left hand and she's punching in numbers one-handedly, calling Siobhan for what must be the hundredth time that evening.

"Really?" Alison gasps.

"Well, maybe. But not necessarily. I mean there's really no precedence for this." Cosima waives her wineglass around as she speaks. "Owning another human being is – well, it's slavery. Which, of course is like totally not legal. But, on the other hand the U.S. Supreme Court just ruled that scientists are allowed to patent synthetic DNA, which means – I don't know – clearly the encrypted bar-code in our sequence is synthetic and who knows what other enhancements to our genome they might have made…"

"But we're not synthetic," Alison interjects. "I mean we're real. Right?"

"Unless you've had a very unsuccessful boob job, I'd say the only synthetic thing about you is your yuppie track suits," Felix quips. Alison glares at him.

"The answer is I'm not sure," Cosima says, ignoring both of them.

"I was only ever given certain sections of your genome to study," Delphine offers, almost shyly. "My guess is that they have several different scientists looking at just a portion in order to keep the entirety of the project secret. I guess it's possible there's something there, besides the ID tag that I didn't see."

"Yes, but even if there isn't any obvious 'enhancements', did they synthetically select the traits they wanted us to have? Is there an original one of us out there somewhere from whom they got our DNA? Or did they pick and choose from a handful of donors or a handful of Petrie dishes?"

"Alright, this isn't getting us anywhere," Sarah growls, working herself up again as she paces, now dialing Paul's number. "The important thing right now is that we find Kira."

"I understand, Sarah, I do," Alison says. "But I have my own family to think about, too. I mean, I signed that contract. I agreed to let them test me in exchange for living my life free of monitors." She glances at Delphine.

"I—" Delphine squeaks, then stops, noticing that every set of eyes in the room are now on her. "I'm sorry, but I doubt they plan to leave you unwatched," she finishes hastily.

"Leekie told me he had personally pulled my monitor."

"Leekie's a liar," Delphine says, with such vehemence that it surprises even her.

"Yeah, well, considering the source…" Sarah begins.

Delphine glances around at Sarah and then at Cosima who is pointedly not looking at her. "Listen, I know I don't have the right to ask any of you to trust me." She glances at Cosima again and just catches the brunette's eyes slipping away from her. "But I know Leekie. I know how he thinks. He's not going to just walk away and leave anyone unmonitored. It's…it's like he's…oh, _merde_, what's the word? – _obséder _– obsessed!"

Alison glances nervously at Sarah and then at Felix. "But my watcher…died. So—"

"Jesus on a Popsicle – Aynsely's dead?" Felix croaks.

"It was a – a freak accident." Alison brushes her hair behind her left ear with slightly shaking fingers, then straightens her bangs until they lay smooth against her forehead.

"What happened? Did she get over-zealous with her Epilady?"

"It's not funny!" Alison's bolts upright out of the chair and the remaining wine in her glass sloshes onto the ground. She stares, horrified, at the small pools of wine on the rug. "Oh, oh," she fusses as she drops to her knees, begins blotting at the wine with first her bare hand and then, when that obviously isn't working, with the corner of her right blouse sleeve. Finally she sits back on her heels staring in absolute dismay at the red stain now on her sleeve. She blinks several times, clears her throat with a "hmm…hmm…" She meticulously rolls her sleeve up, until the stain is hidden. When she finally looks up, she finds four sets of eyes staring back at her. She slides up and back into her chair, looking chagrined.

"Holy shit, Alison. What was that?"

"I had to blot it up before the stain set in."

"Er…yeah…"

"Alison – what exactly happened to Ansyley?" Sarah asks, coming around the side of the couch.

"Her…her scarf got caught in the garbage disposal and she strangled to death. I just found out; right before I came here. Like I said, it was a freak accident." Alison is smoothing down her bangs again. "I'm sure there was nothing anyone could do."

"Dude, that's messed up," Cosima says, her eyes wide.

"Good riddance, I say! I'd like to put a bullet in the whole lot of 'em!" Sarah spits out. All eyes flicker toward Delphine who shifts uncomfortably in her seat, until Sarah brings all attention back to herself with, "Fuck this! I can't believe we're just sitting around getting sloshed!"

"What about Paul," Cosima offers, braving the rising tempest. "Can he help us?"

Sarah scoffs. "I've called him dozens of times, after I found the house empty – he's never called back. He's probably too busy trying to save his own ass."

"Granted, it is a fantastic ass," drawls Felix.

"We can't rely on him for anything. I thought about calling Art."

"What, the cops? Are you shitting me, Sarah?" Felix says. "Those Neolutionists already proved the police can be got to. I mean otherwise we'd be rotting in jail right now."

Cosima's sudden jagged splutters cut off Sarah's retort. The splutters turn to a deep hacking cough. Delphine puts a hand on Cosima's back.

"Cosima," the blonde says anxiously, "Cosima, are you alright?" Cosima's coughing finally trickles to a raspy breath and she takes her hand away from her mouth, staring at it. A small splatter of blood glistens in the palm of her hand. Cosima looks up with wide, shimmering eyes at Delphine.

"Oh, God." Delphine touches Cosima's face lightly with her right hand as her left continues to rub small patterns on the other woman's back. "You're okay. You're going to be okay. I promise." With the tip of her thumb, Delphine wipes away a drop of blood at the corner of Cosima's lips.

"What the hell?! Cos, what the hell is going on?!" Sarah demands.

Cosima shakes her head, her eyes not leaving Delphine's. "I'm sick."

"Sick? What do you mean sick?" This from Alison. "Not like – not like the German?!"

"Katja," Cosima offers. "Yeah, like the German."

"Holy shite!" Sarah and Felix say in unison, just as Alison says, "Shit!" Then quickly follows with, "How sick are you?"

Cosima shrugs her shoulders. "I don't really know. But I'm guessing coughing up blood isn't a good sign." Cosima's laugh is one step down from hysterical.

"Shhhhhhhhit," Sarah hisses through her teeth.

"Here," Delphine offers. She had gotten up during the series of expletives to get Cosima a damp towel from the kitchen. Cosima takes it with a small smile and a 'thanks'.

Delphine waivers for a moment, before saying "I think…I think maybe, maybe I should go."

"What?" Cosima puts her hand on Delphine's arm. "No, why?"

"Probably wants to run back to Leekie – tell him where to find us. You tell that sick mother-fucker –"

Delphine pointedly ignores the rest of Sarah's words, says instead, "I just, you obviously have a lot to talk about – all of you – and I should let you do it privately."

"But I want you to stay…" Cosima's grip tightens. Delphine waivers, torn between wanting to never leave Cosima's side and running away as far and as fast as she can. This is not what she'd signed up for, but then again she should never have signed up for it in the first place. Delphine sits back down and Cosima promptly releases her arm.

"Are we all going to get sick?"

"Jesus, Alison. Is it always about you?"

"No, Sarah, it's not always about me. But I mean, first Katja and now Cosima…"

"It's a fair question," Cosima says. "I don't know. When Scott ran my samples against Katja's he didn't find a marker for respiratory illness. However, he thought he'd found an anomaly in chromosome C, which would indicate certain cells aren't splitting correctly. Look, cloning is a very advanced but very risky scientific process at this point - all the research I've ever looked at about animal cloning indicates a high organ failure rate and an increased susceptibility to disease." Cosima looks back at Delphine for confirmation.

"Oui bien, it's actually quite amazing that any of you are here at all. Cloning animals has, at most, a 3% success rate and even when it is successful…well, cell stability is often significantly compromised…" she tapers off hopelessly.

"Yes, but clearly the DYAD Institute found a way to greatly enhance their success rate," Cosima adds.

Delphine's brows furrowed together, "I don't know – I didn't have access to any of that research."

"Why did the Institute hire you? What exactly did you do there?" Alison asks, genuinely curious.

"I work – worked – in the Immunology Department," Delphine begins, but is cut off by the shrill tone of a phone ringing. Everyone jumps. Sarah stares down at the phone in her hand.

"Shit!" Shit, it's Paul!" She flips the phone open, puts it to her ear. "Hello?! Hello, Paul?!" She starts pacing again as everyone else holds their breaths, watch Sarah as she strides around the room. "What? Where are you? I've been calling –" She's moving towards the bathroom, now towards the kitchen. "Are you sure?" Her voice rises and she spins around, pacing back into the living room, listening hard. "Are you bloody fucking sure?!...Where were they going?!...….Fuck!" She screams and hurls the phone; for an instant it seems suspended in the air and then it smashes against the far wall, shattered pieces flying in a dozen different directions. Sarah crumples onto the floor next to the coffee table, where she sits with her knees tight against her chest rocking back and forth, beating the palms of her hands against her forehead. "Fuck, fuck, fuck."

Felix is beside her in an instant, arm curled around her.

"Sarah, what is it? What happened?"

"They have her, Fee," she whispers. "They fucking have Kira!"

"Who? Who has her?"

"That fucking Proclone bitch."

"Shit. Are you sure? Where is she? Is Paul with them?"

"No. Paul didn't know where Rachel took her exactly. After he got my messages he went back to the building where Rachel was, just like we did. He found security footage of Rachel getting into a chopper on the building's roof not long after I turned her offer down. Paul traced the helicopter back to Pearson. He asked around, found some baggage handler who told him he had seen a woman fitting Rachel's description board a private plane that flew out a couple of hours ago; he said – he said she had a little girl and – and another woman with her. Said both women seemed to know each other…said they both seemed in a hurry to leave…"

"The other woman - it's not Mrs. S! Mrs. S wouldn't do that…if she had taken Kira it would've been to hide her, not hand her over to the Neolutionists…"

"I don't know that, Fee. Not after what Amelia told me…"

"You knew Amelia all of four minutes. We've known Mrs. S. forever – she raised us, Sarah,…"

"I know…"

"Sarah, did Paul find out where the plane went?" Cosima asks gently.

"No. He said he was going to do some more digging…I –I should go," Sarah says, struggling to rise. "I should help him."

"Sarah," Felix starts, but then a phone rings. Everyone stops and looks blankly at the smashed phone for a moment. "Oh, wait, I think it's mine." Felix scrambles to his feet and rushes over to the kitchen counter where he had earlier set it down. "It's Paul," he says looking up from the phone. "Hello? Yeah, yeah she's here…yeah, her phone –er-glitched...yeah...yeah…I'll tell her." He shuts his phone, goes back to sit by Sarah, wraps his arms around her again. "He said to stay here. He's made some calls to some old colleagues of his who are still in intelligence. He said he's on his way here; he'll call if he hears anything before then."

"Oh, God! Fee—" Sarah sobs.

"Shh, shh…we'll find her, Sarah. We'll find her."


	2. Chapter 2

**II.**

"This. is. a. living. nightmare," Cosima declares through gritted teeth an hour later. Her glasses dangle in her left fingers as she rubs her eyes with the palms of her hands.

"I know. I'm sorry," Delphine whispers back. The two women are still sitting on the couch with Alison and Fee slumped in chairs next to them. The face on Delphine's wristwatch reads 4:13 AM. She sighs, lays her head back on the couch.

In the bathroom a newly arrived Paul is having a whispered conversation with Sarah. He seems to be trying to calm her down even as she leans against him barely able to stand on her own feet; anger still simmers within her taut body, warring against her utter exhaustion.

"So…that's Paul," Cosima says glancing towards the bathroom. "Leekie does have a knack for recruiting beautiful monitors." She looks over at Delphine, who's peering at her from half-closed eye lids. "Have you ever met him – Paul?"

"No. No, I knew there were other monitors, of course, but Leekie kept their personal information strictly secret."

"Probably afraid you'd want to start a Monitor Guild; demand higher wages."

Delphine smiles at Cosima. "For you, I would have worked for free."

Cosima grins back. "That's sweet…and also kinda creepy."

The hanging beads in the bathroom door rustle as Paul and Sarah walk back into the room. Paul practically guides Sarah, who's shuffling along like a zombie now, to a chair on the other side of the couch, opposite from where Alison and Felix sit. As Sarah slumps into the chair, Paul remains standing behind and just to the left of Sarah. He looks like a body guard on high alert.

"Any word?" Felix asks Paul.

"Apparently the plane touched down briefly in LA, but they only refueled then flew out again – heading west. No one saw anyone get off the plane, so we're assuming everyone's still aboard."

"West – to the Tokyo office perhaps?" Cosima asks Delphine.

"That would be my guess. But who knows?"

"Sarah says the DYAD Institute has three branches: L.A./Irvine, London, and Tokyo," Paul says.

"Yes," confirms Delphine.

"Any other offices or labs that you might know about?"

"No, not that I'm aware of and I've only been to the facility in Irvine. I wouldn't be surprised if they had other facilities, though."

"No, me neither." Paul and Delphine consider each other for a long moment, before Paul finally offers, "I'm Paul Dierden, by the way."

"Delphine Comier."

"How rude of me," Sarah says rousing a little bit from her stupor, waives her hands between the two blonds. "Beth's monitor, meet Cosima's monitor."

"You just can't give up an opportunity to be ornery, can you," Paul says softly, as he lays his hands on Sarah's shoulders. She seems to calm at his touch and she sighs, slumping farther down in her chair.

"She's like Cosima – very cheeky," Delphine teases as she pats Cosima's leg. It's meant to be a casual, friendly gesture but suddenly both women are very aware of the heat that the touch generates between them. Surprised, they both glance down at Delphine's hand which is now resting gently on Cosima's thigh, then they look back up at each other, locking gazes.

"And here I thought this couldn't get any weirder," Felix says. "It's like a freaking Monitor Convention in here." He crosses his legs and swivels his chair towards Alison. "Hello, Alison, I'll be playing the role of your monitor tonight. There, there, my little test subject" he purrs, exaggeratedly rubbing his hand up and down her arm. "Let me whisper sweet, sweet lies into your ears..."

"Oh, yes, please." Alison giggles, more than a little tipsy on wine and exhaustion.

"And follow you around wherever you go - because stalking people is super sexy."

As if she's been punched in the stomach by Felix's performance, Delphine drops her gaze and lets out a long shaky breath. Her hand slides off Cosima's leg and she folds her hands together in her own lap, almost as if praying.

In his periphery Felix sees Delphine's sudden distress and with the grace of a panther he pounces on it, "So tell us, Delphine, what dirty little secret did Leekie have on you in order to get you to be Cosima's watcher? Or do you simply enjoy messing with people's lives?"

"Felix," Cosima hisses.

"No. No, Cos," Sarah says, as she shifts a little straighter in her chair, the embers of her anger suddenly flaring. "I really think she needs to answer Felix's question. I mean Paul – yeah, he killed like six American soldiers in Afghanistan and covered it up" –- "Oh, Jesus," breaths Alison and Paul steps away from Sarah's chair, stone-faced -– "so they used that against him to get him to monitor Beth. And Olivier, besides having a tail fetish, was a sex pervert. Right, Paul? And who knows what Aynsely did," Sarah says waving in Alison's direction, "probably gunned down some poor 'urban' kid while she was out on Neighborhood Watch. So what about you, Delphine? Huh? What illegal shit did you do? Did you off someone? Or get someone off? What, Delphine? Name your brand – murder or sexual perversion?!"

"I didn't do any of those things!" Delphine shouts, her accent suddenly thick with outrage. She lunges forward across Cosima, as if she wants to strike at Sarah. But then she glances back at Cosima and sees the hazel-brown eyes behind the glasses are coolly appraising her. Delphine sits backwards and repeats, "I didn't do any of those things. I swear." Her chin trembles and she hides her face behind her hands.

"What did you do, Delphine?" This time it's Cosima asking the question; her voice is low and deliberate, but somehow it sounds crueler than any of Sarah or Felix's angry taunts. It hits Delphine in the chest harder than anything that the other two could have thrown at her.

Behind her hands, Delphine sighs resignedly. Several times she looks like she's going to start speaking; several times she stops before finally finding the courage to begin, "My father…my father was a well-respected professor and researcher in the Immunology Department at the Insitut Pasteur in Paris. My mother…passed away when I was only three. Ovarian cancer. I was too young to understand at the time of course, but I always knew that my father blamed himself – a man so brilliant in his area of study but yet none of his education, his research, his knowledge made any difference when it came to saving the woman he loved…" Delphine's eyes slide to Cosima, who is staring hard at the coffee table, but Delphine knows from Cosima's utter stillness that she is listening hard. Delphine feels a wrenching in her chest, remembering her words from earlier, 'I'm sick.' Is this how scared her father felt when her mother got sick? She wraps her arms around her chest, holding in the pain.

"But my father – I was an only child, so it was just the two of us – he never talked about it. Just, sometimes I could feel his sadness and I knew… He tried so hard, though, as a father – he used to make me feel like I was his whole world." Delphine's face has taken on a faraway look, caught somewhere between longing and sadness. "He used to bring me to the institute all the time with him – I practically grew up in his lab. He gave me my own chemical set when I was – I don't know – five, six? I'd sit at a desk in the corner of his laboratory and pretend I was creating cures, while I'd watch him trying to create real ones. I think, in our own ways, we were trying to find a cure for my mother. As if she would come back to us if we found one." Still caught up in the past, Delphine seems completely unaware that tears are trickling down her cheeks and that she's worrying at her bottom lip with her teeth between each sentence.

"My father was everything to me. I wanted to be just like him when I grew up. I studied so hard in school and he was so proud of me. He used to say, 'Study hard, my little Marie.' – he was always teasing me about being his little Madam Curie." Delphine laughs gently and seems to wake up momentarily. She looks around at the other four people in the room – Felix and Sarah both seem a little bored, Paul is standing at attention behind Sarah's chair again, Alison is nodding her head as if following along with the story, and Cosima is continuing to be so still that Delphine actually begins to panic for a moment before she sees Cosima's chest rise and fall, breathing. Delphine swallows the panic before continuing, "Anyway, he used to say, 'Study hard – and when you grow up, you and I will save the world together.' And so I studied. Studying was all I ever seemed to do, I was so focused on wanting to be an immunologist, so he and I could work together, try to save lives. I took the _baccalauréat_ when I was only 16, two years before most students do and I went to University to study Chemistry."

"Er, the _bacca_ thing what's that?" Felix interrupts.

"Oh, I know," Alison chimes in, "The _baccalauréat_ – the 'le bac' – hmmm, well actually just 'le bac', the 'the' is redundant. Anyway, anyway, it's a test that every French secondary student needs to pass in order to go on to college."

"Oui, yes," Delphine concurs. Alison beams at her and says almost conspiratorially, "My French minor is finally paying off."

"Can we just get to the bloody point already!" Sarah barks and everyone jumps in their seats. Paul touches the back of Sarah's head, soothingly.

"Yes, yes, sorry," Delphine hastens to continue, "After I studied in France, I came to the U.S. to earn my PhD at UC Irvine."

"That's a good school," Cosima interjects – unable to help herself. "Not too far down the road from Berkley…" Cosima's eyes have finally stopped scrutinizing the coffee table and they meet Delphine's for just a moment before flickering away.

"Losing the point again," Sarah seethes.

"Yes, of course. I'm sorry. Again. Let's see where was I?..."

"Irvine," Alison helps out.

"Yes, yes. I was working on my PhD in immunology, focusing on host-parasite relationships. Every moment I wasn't in the lab, I was in the library studying, trying to get through grad school as quickly as possible so I could go back to France. Join my father. I had been there almost two years when my major professor called me into her office. She said she wanted me to meet a colleague of hers who worked for an eminent research facility. He – it was Dr. Leekie from the DYAD Institute. My professor had past my name along to him as a good candidate for the Institute. Dr. Leekie told me all about the work they were doing – specifically in their Immunology Department. He made it sound – well, he made the DYAD sound like they were doing the type of work that would save the world, just like I always wanted. I was intrigued. I read all the literature that Dr. Leekie gave to me and I called him back a couple of days later, told him how excited I was about the work the institute was doing. He offered me an internship. He said I could work there while I finished my coursework and my thesis.

"I accepted and I started working almost right away at their Irvine division. I was – so happy – doing exactly what I always wanted to do. And my father was so proud. He would call me almost every day to find out what I was working on and he would tell me all about the research he was conducting. Only…only then one day I answered the phone thinking it was him, but it turned out to be someone from the _Pasteur_. They told me – they told me that my father had collapsed while he was teaching class and had been rushed to the hospital. I told Aldous – Dr. Leekie – and he helped get me a plane ticket home right away. When I got there my father was still in the hospital. He looked so frail, so thin, he could barely speak. The doctor's told me that they thought he had suffered from a stroke, they were running tests to see how much brain damage it might have caused…" Delphine falls silent, a look of remembered horror playing across her features.

"Delphine?" Cosima asks gently. She touches the blonde's hand and Delphine begins to shake.

"They – they discovered a tumor. A brain tumor in his left frontal lobe: malignant. They got him into surgery right away, but…but the cancer had spread too much, too fast. They couldn't remove it all. The doctors told me he didn't have much time left, maybe only a few months, a year at most.

"Between the stroke and the cancer…he – he wasn't himself when he woke up after the surgery. He had a hard time speaking, thinking – logically. He kept calling me 'Isabelle' – that was my mother's name. On the days when he was lucid he would beg me to go back to the States, finish my dissertation and graduate so I could come home - so he and I could 'save the world'. I didn't want to leave him but he just kept insisting. I was close, so close to being done with school and he – he wanted so much for there to be another Dr. Comier in the world. As if I could take his place when he was gone."

Delphine hugs herself more tightly and sinks back into the couch. There are tears in her eyes again and she struggles to continue, "I didn't know what to do. I called Aldous. He had become a kind of mentor to me at the Institute and he was being so kind about giving me the time I needed to be away from work and more than that, he had convinced the DYAD Institute to help cover my father's medical and household bills while he was still in the hospital. Aldous said…he said he could help me. He could help me finish my dissertation, so I could graduate that semester. I should have – I should have said no. I should have just waited, done the work myself – but my father kept slipping farther and farther away…

"Aldous' helped me doctor the results of my dissertation research – took research performed by someone else at DYAD and claimed it was my own. My major professor knew, of course, but Aldous told me that he would 'handle' it with her and I assume he must have, because she's never said a word. Not one word. But, oh, the way she looked at me when I came back to the States to defend my dissertation. I knew she hated me. I would have hated me, too, only I was too caught up in making my father happy before he died, that I simply didn't care. So…" She shrugs. "That's it. My big sin – mon grand péché. I falsified my dissertation in order to graduate early, so my father could watch me cross that God damned stage. He – he died two weeks later." Delphine finishes helplessly, staring at her own hands as if she doesn't recognize them.

"I'm sorry about your father – I really am – but really? That's the 'Big Bad' that the DYAD Institute had on you? You made up some research?" Sarah asks confused.

"Yeah, she might as well be Hannibal Lecter," Felix jibes back.

"No, no…" Cosima says, finally raising her eyes up to look around the room, only she doesn't look at Delphine. "She stole someone else's research, lied her way through her defense so she could get her Doctorate. It's like the worst thing you can do in the world of academia. If someone found out – if her professor talked – the university would revoke her degree; she'd be stonewalled out of her profession."

"Huh. Let me guess," Paul says, "someone threatened to talk."

"No," Delphine admits. "No, no one threatened to talk. After my father died, Aldous begged me to come back to the U.S., to continue my work at DYAD as a full-time researcher in the Immunology Department. I agreed. There was nothing left for me in Paris. No family to speak of, no real friends." Now it was Delphine who is staring at the coffee table, watching Cosima's reactions out of the corner of her eye.

"Five months passed – maybe six. I kept my head down, concentrated on my research. Tried not to think about my father. Then Aldous asked me if I would help him run some blood and DNA tests for a clinical trial he said he was conducting. He told me that the research was highly classified, that we would have to work on it privately and only after hours." –"Oh, here we go," said Felix – "And I agreed. I mean he had been so good to me and my father. How could I refuse? At first I didn't really know what it was we were researching – other than we were looking at segments of human DNA, looking for illness, cell degeneration, predispositions to chronic disease. But then I began to suspect that there was more to the tests. We were looking at genetically identical human DNA, only I knew they were coming from more than one subject and each had a slightly different synthetic marker, an ID tag…"

"324B21," Cosima whispers so quietly only Delphine hears her. The blonde cocks her head and nods sadly.

"So I asked him one night. I asked him who the subjects were. What we were really looking for. And he told me. Not everything, of course – I'm not sure that even he knows everything – but he told me enough: that the material we were studying was from human clones, that we were researching organism stability, making sure the cells weren't breaking down, that the subjects weren't showing any signs of illness. I almost didn't believe him, except somehow I just knew he was telling me the truth. He was so excited, so happy to be letting me in on his little secret. He also told me that there were 'monitors' watching the clones – watching them and keeping track of how they reacted, how they interacted with the world around them. I wish I could say I stood up to him, told him what he was doing was illegal or, at the very least, immoral. But I was honestly fascinated. I wanted to know everything about the…well…" she glances around the room at the very real women around her; her eyes land on Cosima and linger there, "the subjects. Aldous was thrilled by my interest."

"Yeah, I bet it made for great pillow talk while you and Leekie shagged."

"Fee!" Sarah tried to cut across his quip, but the words were already out of his mouth.

"Whoa," Cosima said, her wide eyes flickering to Felix, then to Sarah, "Whoa, that's totally uncalled for." Cosima's eyes land on Delphine – Delphine, who has suddenly gone very pale and is now staring down at her long white fingers.

"What?..." Cosima starts. Delphine's hands sweep back through her tangled blonde tresses, exposing her own wide eyes, soft brown and shimmering.

"It wasn't like that, not the way he made it sound. It was just something that happened…" Delphine shrugs her shoulders helplessly.

"You slept with Leekie?!" Cosima's voice cracks as she puts her own hands to her forehead as if she can ward away Delphine's next words.

"I – I – I – yes. I didn't really mean for it to happen. It's just – we were spending so much time together. And I was lonely and still hurting so much for my father…and Aldous – Dr. Leekie…he was there for me. And he genuinely seemed to care…and I – I – I was just so very, very lonely. Please, Cosima…listen to me, it didn't mean anything."

Hot tears suddenly invade Cosima's eyes and she releases a sharp breath she didn't realize she was holding onto. Her lungs protest, first with a splutter and then with a cough that shakes her whole small frame. She can't stop coughing. Cosima grabs the still damp towel off the coffee table and jolts off the couch, lurching away towards the bathroom. She hopes everyone thinks it's just a coughing fit, doesn't see the tears pouring down her cheeks.

"Cosima? Cosima? Are you alright?" Delphine asks and the fear in her voice stops Cosima's forward motion. Cosima stands with her back to the others. She takes off her glasses, wipes her face, wipes away the tears and the blood. She settles her face into what she hopes is one of casual nonchalance and turns back around. But when her eyes land on Delphine, Cosima feels a twist of bile rising like angry poison in her throat; without thinking Cosima spits out, "Yeah, well, for Leekie's sake I hope you're better at fucking men then you are at fucking women."

In the background Felix whistles, "Ouch."

Delphine's face falls, just as it had several days ago when she and Cosima last argued. If Delphine had looked defeated then, now she looks like she's been utterly pulverized. Delphine rises, swaying unsteadily, then practically lunges for the door. She struggles with the screwdriver in the lock for a moment, banging her other hand hard on the metal door in frustration before finally wrenching the screwdriver free. Then she's out the door, heels clicking hastily down the empty hallway. Just as the blonde disappears around the door Cosima panics; she races forward, calling, "No, no, no – Delphine. Please. I didn't mean that. I swear. I didn't. I'm just…" Cosima disappears into the hallway.

Back in the room Felix drawls to Sarah, "So it was sexual perversion then…"

The hallway in front of Cosima is empty now and she races down the corridor towards the stairway where she almost plunges over the figure crumpled on the third step down. It's Delphine, hunched against the stairwell, great sobs rocking her thin frame. Cosima stops in her tracks, for a dazed moment she stands speechless just watching the blonde woman cry and rock against the wall. Then the brunette's hands reach out; graze the top of other woman's quivering shoulder. "Delphine," she breaths. The next thing she knows she's sitting on the steps next to Delphine, her arms wrapped around the immunologists torso.

"Delphine – oh, Delphine, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to say that." Cosima gently brushes the hair away from Delphine's face and she kisses her forehead. Once, twice, three times, now cradling Delphine's face and rocking slowly with her as Delphine cries. "I'm so sorry. Sometimes the filter between my brain and my mouth phases out of existence. It was just that I was hurt and caught off guard and I – I – I wanted to hurt you back." Delphine looks up at Cosima and her melancholy expression just about breaks Cosima's heart.

"I'm always hurting you. And I don't mean to," Delphine says softly.

"No – no I know you don't. It's not – I mean I'm not really mad at you."

Delphine's sob is almost a laugh. "How could you not be? You should hate me. I hate me."

"No, no, Delphine. Don't say that. I certainly don't hate you. God, don't you know –" Cosima falters. Her mind spins, what does Delphine mean to her? She's caught between wanting to fall back into Delphine's warm soft embrace and running full tilt in the opposite direction. Instead she settles for, "Look. I know we've both lied to each other. I knew who you were, or at least suspected who you were when you suddenly showed up in my life. I could have just walked away, protected Sarah and Alison and…and Kira. But I thought I could play the game. Watch the watcher. I didn't expect to feel, well, feel all of this." She waives her hand between herself and Delphine.

Delphine bites her own lip, fighting back a slow smile. Then tentatively she reaches up and cups Cosima's face with both of her hands. She whispers, "I know. Me, too."

"And as far as Leekie – it's not like I can judge that. I mean, I suspected when you introduced me to him that he and you had some kind of connection beyond just working together; you seemed too - comfortable - in his presence. Only I told myself that I was imagining it because I really wanted – I really hoped that you would be as interested in me as I was in you. I wanted it so badly I ignored my own suspicions. And it's not like I haven't been with other people – because, uh, yeah, I have – I mean not since you and I – not since we – but, you know, before that."

Cosima is looking at Delphine with such intensely questioning eyes that Delphine suddenly gets it, suddenly realizes why Cosima had been so hurt.

"I haven't been with anyone else either, Cosima – not since us – not since we – I promise you. Leekie hasn't touched me since that night that you and I…made love. I wouldn't want – I couldn't bare his hands on me, not after you."

"Really?" The burgeoning hope in Cosima's voice makes Delphine smile sweetly.

"Really."

Cosima seems to process this, eyes searching deeply into Delphine's. The brunette's own lopsided smile is slow, but toothy. She nudges Delphine's knee, "Hey, I have an idea. How about we wipe the slate clean?"

"The slate? What slate? I don't know of any – slate?"

"Oh, yeah. Well, so like, we promise to start over. You know a fresh start. No more lies. Just truth – me and you."

"I'd like that." Delphine bites her bottom lip again and nods vigorously. "No lies."

"Good." The two women are suddenly aware of how entangled their arms have become, how close their faces are. Cosima stares for a long wistful moment at Delphine's lips. But then she shakes her head, no not yet. Not quite yet. There's still too much forgiving to do. She pulls apart just a little, but still holds onto Delphine. "I mean, I don't know where this is going to go. But I'd like to try – see if we can learn to trust each other. Yes?"

"Oh, yes."

Cosima leans forward and this time it is she who nudges Delphine's forehead with her own. "Come on. We should go back to the others – we still need to help with Kira." She stands and offers her hands to the blonde woman.

"Alright," Delphine agrees taking Cosima's hands and stands up. Side by side, they walk back into the apartment.

As they enter Felix chirps, "Oh good, they made up. How very lesbian." Cosima rolls her eyes and shuts the door behind them, locking it again. She leads Delphine towards the couch where the two women sit back down.

"Right then," Sarah says. "Get it all sorted did you?"

"Yeah. I think we did." Cosima's toothy grin widens. "Which is good, because I think I've come up with a plan..."


	3. Chapter 3

**III.**

"This plan sucks," Felix complains grumpily. "Why did we ever listen to Dreadlocks?"

"As I recall, you wanted Cosima to come up with a plan," Sarah retorts. The two foster siblings are sitting in Beth's idling car, parked at an isolated overlook along the river. Snow falls lightly outside and the half-frozen river below is like a dead wet thing reflecting the gray of the clouds overhead. From her place in the driver's seat, Sarah cranks the heater up a notch and takes another huge gulp from a 24 oz. white and blue stripped Styrofoam coffee cup; she doesn't even taste the scalding liquid, just sucks down as much caffeine as she can get into her system. Every so often she rubs at the throbbing vein in her forehead. Beside her, Felix shifts in his seat, trying to get comfortable.

"Yeah – don't ever let me ask her to do that again."

"Noted."

Felix wraps his coat around himself more tightly, feeling the cold air seeping past the seals of the car window. He sighs, wriggles in his seat, sighs again, flips the passenger-side visor up and down, sighs a third time, turns on the car radio, and scans through several stations until finally he finds a radio station playing Queen's "Hammer Will Fall." He turns the volume up higher and starts tapping his fingers on the dashboard, in time with the song.

"Oi!" Sarah exclaims and punches off the radio. She rubs her forehead again, takes another swig of coffee. "I have a splitting headache here!"

"Sorry." Felix immediately sits still, watching snowflakes fall against the passenger window. He blows warm breath against the glass and watches the snow melt. A minute passes, maybe two, before he says, "It's just my nerves are shot. And shouldn't Paul be here by now?"

Sarah takes a deep breath, glares over at her foster brother.

"Sorry. Sorry." He waves off her angry stare and settles further into his seat. Idly picking lint off the fingerless wool gloves he's wearing, Felix glances around the interior of the car, looks at the pile of clothes and personal items strewn across the back seat; items that he and Sarah had hastily grabbed from his apartment earlier that morning after they decided it wasn't safe to stay there anymore. Too many people might be looking for them, from the police to the Neolutionists, to the religious nuts that raised Helena. He glances over at Sarah; her eyelids are closed and her head is listing slightly to the side, but her fingers still have a firm grip on the coffee cup in her hand. Felix looks into the backseat again and grabs the well-worn copy of Rimbaud's poetry from the top of the pile. He flips through it idly, not really even registering there are words on the page, let alone reading any of the poems. Doodles and highlighted passages flash by as he flips through the book. Finally, he sighs heavily and can't keep from saying, "It's just – I hate waiting."

Sarah's eyelids snap open.

"Yeah, I'm getting that. Look, Fee – if you'd rather not be here, I can take you back to Bobby's –"

"No – no. Of course, not. I want to help. I do. I'd do anything for Kira and Mrs. S. I love them, too, you know!" He adjusts his seat belt several times. "I'm just tired of all this. Ever since we found out about your – well – 'clone condition' - it's been nonstop nightmare."

"I know. And I'm sorry about that – believe me. I wish I'd never taken Beth's purse at the train station – never gotten involved – never gotten you involved in any of this. But I can't go back and undo that, Fee. I know you've given up a lot to help me, but I honestly don't think I could do any of this without you."

"Yeah, well…" Felix shrugs. "Bobby said she'd babysit my apartment until we can go home again, so…"

"I mean it," Sarah says seriously. She puts a hand on her foster brother's arm. "Thank you."

"Don't get all mushy on me now, Sarah. I'll start wondering if you switched places with one of the other clones." Felix grins.

"You'd like that. Trade me in for Alison, I could be the one who gets to go back home to the husband and kids, forget about all of this." She shudders. "But then I'd have to live in Suburbia – with Donnie."

"Ugh – the seventh circle of Hell." Felix laughs suddenly, "But I bet Alison would just love to trade Donnie in for Big Dick Paul. Ha – could you imagine those two together."

"Yeah, how about we never talk about this. Ever. Again."

They both stop laughing when they hear tires crunching up the gravel drive to the lookout. In the rearview mirror Sarah spots a blue Toyota cresting the hill, Paul behind the driver's wheel.

"Speaking of Casanova…" Felix murmurs, turning back in his seat. "But, hey" – he punches Sarah lightly in the arm – "at least I didn't pair him with Cosima…oh, God...things just got really weird in my head: Cosima and Paul getting it on hippy-style."

"Ewww, Fee – stop!" Sarah whacks Fee playfully on the arm several times.

"Okay, okay…I'll stop, I'll stop," he says. As his laughter fades away, his expression sobers. "Do you think Cos and Delphine will be okay? I mean, this whole plan, it could go bad real fast…"

Paul's car pulls into the space next to them. Sarah switches off the ignition in their own car and unbuckles her seat belt before contemplating Felix's words. "They'll be okay, Fee, "she finally says. But her tone is flat and is edged with rising dread as she repeats, "They'll be fine."

* * *

Doctor Aldous Leekie sits at the far back table in a downtown café, sipping organically-grown coffee from a white and blue striped Styrofoam cup: the irony is not lost on him. In fact, he rather enjoys a little irony with his morning coffee. In his other hand he's holding the Style Section of the New York Times, reading an article about how the bucket hat is making a come-back in the fashion world. The door to the café tinkles open and two women walk in, not exactly together but somehow linked in their intention. Aldous looks up from the paper. A bespectacled brunette in a red coat is walking towards him as a taller blonde, draped in black, follows a few paces behind. Aldous hums to himself, creases the paper in half on top of the table, and throws the Science Section on top of it for good measure. As the women approach, he stands up.

"Cosima! And, Delphine…I didn't realize you were in town…"

Cosima throws a glance back over her shoulder at Delphine who is answering, "I flew in late last night."

"Ah. Well, this is intriguing. I was surprised when I got Cosima's call first thing this morning asking to meet – not that I wasn't very pleased – but now I must admit I'm a little confused…" He's apprising the two women who are lingering on the other side of table, scrutinizing the distance between the two of them. Calculating inches and gestures.

"I knew you were going to offer Cosima a job at the Institute," Delphine explains, "I thought I might be able to convince her that it would be in her best interest to take it." Delphine glances over at Cosima, who is noticeably grinding her teeth, glaring at the immunologist.

"Ah…," Aldous responds, his eyes narrowing. "I assumed the two of you weren't speaking; not after Cosima discovered you were her monitor."

"Don't get me wrong," Cosima starts, "I'm still pissed at both of you for that. But, as perverse as it is, when Delphine texted me to let me know she was in town, I decided I'd take the chance to meet with her. I had questions about the Institute, questions about the genome you provided me. I didn't know who else to talk to. Not about this; Sarah and Alison certainly don't understand the science behind our creation– quite frankly it scares them. I needed to talk to someone. Even if it was with – her." If Cosima's eyes could actually throw spears, Delphine would have been a porcupine; instead Delphine merely looks crestfallen.

"Ah," Aldous says again. "So, you've actually been considering my offer? Good. And is that what I hope it is?" Leekie asks pointing at the papers clutched in Cosima's right hand. She looks down at it as if surprised to see it there.

"Maybe," Cosima answers noncommittally.

"Please. Why don't we sit down. Talk about this." He gestures towards the other three chairs as he slides back into his own. Cosima and Delphine sit down on either side of Leekie, leaving the fourth chair between them. "So, the questions you had; was Delphine able to answer them for you?"

"For the most part, yes. But," she sighs deeply and continues, "look, I'm going to pretend for just a moment that this is an above-board game rather than the rigged one I know it is, because right now I have no other choice. So this is me putting all of my cards out on the table: I'm sick with a repertory illness – like Katja Obinger."

Dr. Leekie sits back in his chair, glances at Delphine who confirms Cosima's words with a nod.

Cosima continues, "Don't think for an instance that I'm not still enraged about all of this. Hell, I'm even angrier now that I know I'm sick, but I need answers. So…if I do this," – she waives the employment contract around in the air – "it's only because my life is at stake – and maybe Sarah and Alison's lives, too. It's a matter of biological preservation now. And as sick and twisted as all you people are, I'm literally staking my life on this one thing; that you want to find a cure for whatever it is that's killing me and possibly the others, as much as I do. I figure you have too much time and resources tied up in this experiment to let it fail now. Am I wrong?"

"Cosima. Cosima, all we've ever wanted to do was protect you and your…'sisters'. Of course we'll help you find a cure. The last thing we want is to lose another one of you – especially you, Cosima, with a brilliant mind like yours. I have to admit I was afraid of this – ever since Katja got ill, I feared that it may be an issue for the rest of you. I already have a team of scientists looking for a cure…"

"You do? Why didn't you tell me?" Delphine asks.

"I planned to; but I needed you to help gain Cosima's trust first." Cosima snorts. "You're one of our best and brightest, Delphine." He pats Delphine's hand which is resting on the tabletop. "And you had more pressing work—"

"Yeah, spying on me. Getting me to join the DYAD Institute."

"Yes, Cosima, that's what I asked Delphine to do. I didn't know you were sick, of course – in fact I was very dearly hoping that no one else would show signs of it. And with Helen and the Prolethians out there trying to kill you all off – well that was my main concern, the immediate threat. I hoped Delphine, given her own love of science, would be able to convince you to join the DYAD Institute quickly, where we could protect you more easily. But I also really believe that you would be a good asset to have on our team; you have a unique perspective, as I mentioned once before. You might see things; make connections that the rest of us might not be seeing. I promise you, Cosima, we will do everything we can to help you – whatever medical treatments you need, whatever research equipment – anything to help make you better."

"And then what? I mean what exactly is end game here? I go to work at the Institute, we find a cure and I survive, we prevent the others from getting sick. What then, Dr. Leekie? Do Alison, Sarah, and I just live out the rest of our lives freely until we eventually die of old age?"

"I have to say, Cosima, I'm a little hurt that you weren't paying more attention to my lecture the other day. What's this all about? Why self-directed evolution, of course. We prove that human cloning is not only possible, but is the next step in human evolution. Imagine – we could live forever – constantly rebirthing our own better selves."

"So we're not just living organ donors – waiting around until the 'Original' needs a new kidney, a new heart."

Delphine sucks in her breath at Cosima's words and Leekie regards the immunologist for a moment before explaining to Cosima, "I agree that this kind of experiment always has the potential for 'abuse'. And I know that if I asked you to trust me – no, wait, listen – I understand that we've undermined your trust but we really were trying to protect you and the others, all while allowing you to make your own choices in life. If what we wanted was living organ donors as you say, then why send you all out into the world and let you live your lives? Why wouldn't we have you locked up in a lab somewhere – caged like veal until we needed you?"

"And that's the only reason that I'm willing to take this chance," Cosima admits. "Because it doesn't make any sense otherwise."

"Then you'll work with us?"

A long pause follows as Cosima stares down at the contract in her hand. Finally she says, "According to this I'll be working in the Irvine facility. Is that right?"

"Yes. You'll be on my own personal team of researchers. And I hope that you're allowing Delphine to meet with you means you're willing to work with her as well? With her knowledge in immunology she would be of great help on the team."

Cosima looks over at Delphine, sizing her up. "Yes, fine. But look – let me make this last thing very clear – I'm agreeing to work with the both of you only because we have a common goal. This is nothing but a working relationship. I still don't trust you. So no more bullshit, no more subterfuge, no more spying on me. If I so much as get a whiff that something isn't right – I'm walking. And I'm certainly not interested in your friendship," – she looks at Dr. Leekie then back at Delphine – "or your – whatever."

"Fair enough," Dr. Leekie agrees, taking a sip of his now lukewarm coffee.

"So I assume you'll get back to me on the details of my move back to Cali?"

"Yes. We'll set things up for you there, help pack up your things back in Minneapolis and move them to Irvine. I'd be more than happy to talk to your major professor at U of M, have your course load reduced or your credits transferred to UCI, if you'd like –"

"No. No. I'll take care of that myself. I actually have a plane ticket back to Minneapolis in a couple of hours to do just that."

"And of course we want to get you in to see our doctors as soon as possible; find out the extent of your illness. In fact, I'd rather that we got you in today or tomorrow at the latest –"

"No, I'm going back to Minneapolis tonight. You're doctors can poke and prod me in a few days once I get my other affairs in order."

"Fine. Whatever you say, Cosima. We really do want you to be happy and well."

Cosima rolls her eyes as she stands; Aldous rises with her. "Uh, Cosima…" He gestures at the papers in her hand.

"Oh, right." She grabs the pen that sits by his newspaper and, with a furious scribble signs the signature line. She slaps the contract down in front of him.

"Welcome to the team, Cosima." Aldous smiles and holds out his hand. The brunette looks at his outstretched hand a moment then casually slides her own hands deep into her coat pockets.

"Yeah, well. We'll see about that." Cosima turns to leave.

"Oh, and one more thing, Cosima."

"What?"

"You wouldn't happen to know where Sarah is hiding herself these days?"

Cosima turns back, looks Leekie up and down. "Sarah? We saw each other yesterday, along with Alison, to discuss your various offers."

"And?"

"And, we agreed to make our own decisions, go our own ways. I suggest you call Sarah – find out what she's decided."

"I have. She's not answering my calls and we can't seem to find her."

"Oh, well, it seems to me that Sarah's not the type who sticks around. Speaking of – I really need to go so I can catch my flight."

"Yes, of course. Well, perhaps if Sarah contacts you, you could let us know." Cosima's withering glare is her answer. "Right then, we'll be in touch about your move to Irvine. Soon."

"Whatev." Cosima's hands dance the comment off as she turns to leave again.

"Have a safe flight," Delphine says softly and for just a tiny moment Cosima's feet waiver, then, without another word, she's leaves the café, stepping out into the gray world beyond. Both Delphine and Leekie watch from the café window as Cosima's small form weaves in and out of the other pedestrians strolling along the sidewalks; they watch her until she hops into a yellow cab at the corner light. The light changes green and the taxi speeds off, disappearing out of sight. Aldous turns to regard Delphine, whose brown eyes are now studying the tabletop. Leekie sits back down.

"So," he says.

"So," Delphine echoes back.

"Clearly she's still smitten with you."

"What? Non, she can barely stand to be in the same room with me."

"Why else would she agree to meet with you? Besides, in my experience, a woman doesn't hold that kind of animosity against someone she doesn't still care about…"

Delphine scoffs. "What does it matter? She signed the contract. She's going to be working for the Institute. Just like you wanted. It doesn't matter how she feels about me anymore."

"No, I suppose it doesn't." He reaches out, entangles his fingers with Delphine's. She looks up at him, a tight smile forming on her lips. "It's not going to be an issue for you though is it? Working with her? It's important that we work quickly – figure out a way to reverse her illness…"

"Of course, why would I have an issue?"

"I don't know…" He squints at her then smiles a lopsided hyena grin. "I'm just glad I don't have to share you with her anymore."

"You never shared me with her, Aldous. I only did what you asked me to do to get the information you needed. You know that."

"Yes. About that," – he scoots closer to her, "exactly what did you do to get the info?"

Delphine laughs, rolls her eyes and leans closer to Aldous, whispering, "I didn't sleep with her, if that's what you're implying. You know I'm not interested in her like that." But as Aldous continues to appraise her, Delphine crinkles up her forehead, looks around, then adds in French, "Aldous…I know you're going to be very angry with me, but I" – she bites her bottom lip – "I helped her break the coded ID sequence in her genome."

Aldous' eyebrows lift and he settles back a little in his chair. His fingers tighten around Delphine's. "Oh?"

In English, Delphine says, "It was the only thing I could think to do, in order to gain a little of her trust back."

Aldous pushes the newspaper around on the table, then, picking up the conversation in French again asks, "And how did she react when the message was decoded?"

"How would anyone react to knowing their DNA has been patented? You saw her – she was hurt, angry. It was all I could do to convince her that the DYAD Institute was the only viable option left to her for finding a cure. No other facility is equipped to understand the complexities of her genome; of her origin."

"And your reaction?"

Delphine's mouth twitches involuntarily but her answer is quick, "I was shocked, of course. But the more I thought about it, the more it made sense." She shrugs her shoulders. "Scientists are bound to want to protect their work. In this case, extraordinary work. But, Aldous, I can't imagine that such a claim on human beings, no matter how they came to be, would hold up in court."

"Delphine…I want you to listen to me very carefully." His grip is so tight on her hand now that Delphine is sure he's about to break her bones. "If word of this experiment ever got out, the case would never reach the court. There would be no evidence left. Do you understand what I'm telling you?"

"Yes," she breathes.

"Good." Aldous smiles slowly, releases his grip and instead pats her hand softly. "Now – did Cosima happen to mention the copyright to any of the others?"

"I don't think so; we talked through the night – just the two of us – and then we came here to meet you."

"Well, if she did, it would help explain why Sarah Manning refused our offer." His gaze softens, but he's looking her up and down. "Do you happen to know where Sarah might be hiding?"

"No." She chews on her lip. "But I met Cosima at Sarah's foster brother's place. She texted me his address – but Cosima was the only one there when I arrived."

"And the address?"

Delphine licks her lips nervously. "What do you plan to do, Aldous?"

"Delphine, there's still a danger to the others. Fortunately, both Alison and Cosima are back under our care, but Sarah is out there all on her own again. I just want to talk to her – try to convince her one more time that she's better off under our protection."

Delphine nods woodenly, but she is pulling her iPhone out of her purse, scrolling through her messages. She hits the forwarding button. As the message beeps through to Aldous' phone, he reaches into his coat pocket to retrieve it. With a wink at Delphine he forwards the message on again to a number that Delphine can't see, then he hits redial. Someone apparently picks up on the other end because Leekie merely says, "Two down; one to go," before hanging up.

"Who was that?" Delphine asks.

"Hmm…But now," he says dialing in a number one-handedly, "I'm going to call our pilot, let him know we'll be flying back to California tonight. We need to get things set up for Cosima as soon as possible."

"Oh, but I had thought – well, I had planned to go back to Minneapolis, too, for just a couple of days – pack up my things."

"There's no need – you know we have plenty of people to help with that. And besides," he says flashing her another hyena grin and Delphine feels the hairs on the back of her arms rise, "now that I have you back, I don't plan to let you out of my sight – at least not for a good long while."

* * *

The red fire door in the abandoned factory swings open and Detective Art Bell enters the foul smelling room beyond, followed closely by Detective Angie Deangelis. "Damn! What died in here?!" Angie exclaims, holding her sleeve up to her nose. The two officers pause, taking in the scene before them. Yellow police tape is strung across the tall white cement block pillars that hold up the room. A camera bulb keeps flashing off to their right, bright even against the spotlights that have been placed around the perimeter of the room. The harsh light exposes a trail of russet colored blood that winds its way across the floor between the pillars. Angie quickly adds, "I mean, besides the obvious?"

Janis Beckwith, Lead Forensic Specialist, walks around the corner towards the two detectives, nimbly avoiding the pools of blood. "Hey, good of you guys to join us! We got another strange one for you this morning." She nods back in the direction from which she came.

"Are those the same images we found in the abandoned building over on 21st?" Art asks, nodding at the black chalk figures drawn crudely in several places on the pillars.

"Yep. Someone's quite the artiste. With a really crappy preference in hangouts. Come on, the real fun is over here," Janis says, beckoning the detectives after her. She leads them on a weaving path around the blood trail and around a bend in the room into another section of the building where a metal stairway leads up to the building's other floors. A crime scene photographer is busily snapping photos and two plainclothes officers linger in the corner by the stairs. The body of a middle-aged woman of color is propped up against one of the pillars. An African head wrap adorns her brow and the white blouse and black skirt she wears are soaked with blood. It's immediately evident that the trail of blood that they've been following belongs to this woman. Janis squats next to the body and points out the wound in the woman's side, "You can see the entry point here. Looks like she was stabbed in the intestines, probably with a knife of some kind. It's a slow and agonizing way to die."

Angie crouches next to Janis, examining the body in detail. Art, however, takes a couple of steps away, peering around the room.

"And the other body?" He asks.

"Over there." Janis jerks her head to her left. Art turns and looks.

"Where?"

"Right there."

"Are you shitting me?"

"No, really, here look," – the forensic officer stands and walks over to a large pool of blood that vaguely resembles the upper torso and wings of a red snow angel. Art grunts and turns towards Janis. She shrugs her shoulders.

"What happened? Did the body get up and walk away?" Angie asks, getting back to her feet and joining the other two. Janis shrugs again and says, "Maybe."

"Okay, what the hell?"

"The call came in from a realtor who said he's trying to sell this piece of junk building – said he was supposed to meet a potential buyer here but when he came in he found the blood and two dead bodies. He was so scared he ran for it, called the police from about a block west of here on his cell phone. He told dispatch that there were two dead women, except when the police got here there was only the one corpse. But there was definitely another person laying there at some point. It's too much blood for it to be from this poor woman here. In fact, I'd say, judging by the amount of blood, whoever it belongs to is either already dead or is not too much longer for this world. I also think there was at least one other person here besides Jane Doe and walking corpse. If you look here, you can see two distinct bloody shoe treads and our body – the one that decided to stay put – is wearing non-tread sandals, so…"

"Maybe the realtor stepped in the blood when he found them?" Angie offers.

"Nah, I already checked – his shoes are clean and don't match either of these treads. Besides, it looks like there was some sort of scuffle – look over here." She points out a pattern of smudges and swirls in the trail of blood.

"Yeah, sure," Angie concurs with a frown.

"And the other body/wounded person? You think whoever won the fight carried the second body away? Maybe the third party was still here hiding when the realtor showed up? Then after the guy ran for it, the third person grabbed the body and left?" Art poses as he walks the perimeter of the scene.

"That would make sense. Only, I have another theory; one that I'm not committing to paper unless we find more evidence to back it up."

"What's your theory?" The female detective asks, intrigued.

"I think the second 'body' merely got up and walked him or herself out of the building."

"But all the blood – even you said there's too much for the wound not to be mortal."

"Yep. Well, see here." She points to a very faint set of shoe prints in the dust on the floor, a small trail of blood drops follows in the footprints wake. "It looks like the second person gets back up on his or her own and walks that way towards the stairs. I had one of the officers go up – he said there's an open door at the top, leads out to the east exterior of the building along the ridgeline. My aid's up there now taking pictures and looking for other clues."

"And the other set of tracks?" Art asks.

"Well, from what I can tell they lead off in the opposite direction, back towards where you two came in at. There's a hell of a lot of blood here to analyze though. It's going to take us a long time to put all the pieces together. And, of course, we have blood samples to run, see if we can match them to any of our records. Maybe a certain quarry victim?"

"Shit. Alright. Well, do we know if there are any security cameras still active in the building or on the perimeter?"

Janis shrugs. "Not my job, Detective Bell."

"Yeah, yeah. I'll get my guys on it." He turns to Angie and inclines his head towards the stairway. "Should we go up and look."

"Sure, I always love a good climb." Angie saunters up the stairs, Art following behind her. As soon as they are out of view, however, she stops and turns toward her partner. "Are you thinking what I'm thinking?"

"Don't even," Art begins, waving his hand wearily.

"You know it has something to do with Sarah Manning." Art sighs heavily. He brushes past Angie heading farther upstairs. "No, Art, come on. You know it. I know it. Hell, even Beckwith knows it. Those pictograms down there; they're the exact same kind of drawings that our killer led us to a few days ago."

"I know. I know," Art says, continuing to climb.

"God, Art, then let's go get her; bring her back in for questioning." Angie's voice is taut with frustration.

Art stops on the next landing, turns on his heel towards his partner. "Look, Angie. We already tried that, remember? That lawyer of hers descended on the precinct like a winged harpy of justice. We bring Sarah Manning in again this soon; her lawyer's going to cry 'harassment' and we won't be able to get close to her again. We need to keep working this thing until we have substantial proof that she's involved. I don't know. I just can't help but shake the feeling that someone is out there, pulling all of the strings."

He turns back around and begins climbing again, but calls back, "We just gotta be careful we don't end up as puppets, too."

* * *

In the stillness of the woods surrounding the overlook the sound of three car doors slamming closed echoes like rifle shots. Disturbed by the sound a murder of crows nesting in the nearby trees take to the air; their wings thrash angrily as they circle up into the gray sky, cawing at the three human intruders below them. Sarah watches the birds wheel away across the river valley to a grove of trees on the far shore where they begin to settle. Not for the first time in her life, Sarah envies the ability to fly away.

She swings around to the two men huddling between the cars, their backs turned against the cold wind and the flakes of snow that are now tumbling out of the sky in thick waves. She finds Paul carefully studying her. After years of monitoring for any change in habit, gesture, or health, Paul can't seem to help himself from falling into old habits; he doesn't seem satisfied with what he currently sees.

"Were you able to get any rest?" Paul starts to ask, but Sarah cuts him off with, "What did you find out?"

"Well…" He looks down at the manila folder in his hand, "I don't know if it's good news or not, but my contacts were able to pull surveillance footage at Pearson –"

"And?"

"And," – he bends open the manila folder, hands her a group of black and white images – "They're pretty dark and fuzzy, but you can make out some of the women's features." Sarah flips through the photos as Felix leans over and looks at them upside down.

"These are definitely Rachel," Sarah says, looking at the first few photos that depict a blonde haired woman climbing out of a helicopter. She keeps shuffling through the pictures and her hands suddenly still as she comes to a photo of three figures standing outside a small private jet; two women and one little girl. Her hands start to shake violently and the photos flutter out of her hands.

"Oh, God," Felix utters, bending down to pick the photos up off the frozen gravel. "Is it her, Sarah? Is it Kira?"

The word drops dully from Sarah's cold lips, "No."

"What?" Felix exclaims, frantically shuffling through the photos until he finds the picture Sarah had been looking at; he holds the picture up to his face, squinting at the image.

"Are you sure it isn't her, Sarah?" Paul asks. He reaches a hand out to touch her arm. Sarah pulls away.

"Don't! And, I'm sure – it's not her!"

"Well this second woman is definitely not Mrs. S. – she's far too short and way too Asian. And I don't think the child is Kira either," Felix says, looking at the photo again.

"I know it's not Kira!"

"Alright, alright, it's just that the child's face is turned away and the photo is so grainy –" Paul tries to reason.

"It's not her!" Sarah spins away from the two men and paces away from the shelter of the cars. "Fuck! Fuck!" She screams and the words reverberate off the trees.

"But, but this is good right?" Felix asks confused, looking at Paul. "It means the Neolutionsists don't have her."

"Actually, it could mean anything. They still might have smuggled Siobhan and Kira out a different way, taken them somewhere else." Paul takes the photos from Felix's loose grip and stuffs them back into the manila folder. "I still have my guys tracking the jet and looking for other leads."

Sarah shakes her head. She stands staring up into the sky as snowflakes beat against her face.

"What about that Tomas guy? Did you have any luck getting more information out of him?"

Felix shuffles his feet, looks down at the toes of his boots before answering Paul, "We stopped by the ship on our way here. The cage Sarah left him in was empty – it looked like someone had pried the cage door off from the outside."

"Shit," Paul curses under his breath. Both men glance over at Sarah who is still standing staring up at the clouds, her eyelashes and hair dusted white with snow.

"Clearly there are more Prolethians out there that we don't know about; unless some random person found him and let him out. I'm doubting that though," Paul theorizes.

"You think maybe those kookoo-for-everyone-not-clones wackjobs might have taken Kira and Mrs. S?" Felix asks.

"Mrs. S has Kira." Sarah's statement is devoid of all emotion. The two men turn to her, but her eyes are still fixated upward. Felix follows her gaze up into the clouds.

"We don't know that Sarah."

"I know it, Fee," Sarah says and now she's looking at him. "I knew it the moment I went into that house and realized they were gone. And those photos," – she nods at the folder in Paul's hand – "just confirm it for me. If Rachel and Leekie had taken her, they would have contacted me by now with their demands. Hell, so would Tomas' people. No, Mrs. S has Kira."

"But, Sarah, if Mrs. S had taken Kira, she would have gotten in touch with us by now, too. She wouldn't just take off like that, disappear without a word."

"She did it before, when she moved us out of London, Fee. Don't you remember – she woke us up in the middle of the night, made us pack a small bag of clothes and then we left, just like that." She snaps her fingers. "We never looked back. She told me the other day she would burn down everything that we had built here and start all over again someplace else if things got too close to Kira."

"Yeah, but she would've taken us with her–"

"It was her, Felix. I know it. Bloody Mrs. S! Ha, Amelia warned me."

"Please – not her again. We don't know anything about that woman; for all we know she's someone the Neolutionists sent in to get close to you –"

"It's Mrs. S. And that's that." Sarah digs into her jean's pocket and pulls out the keys to Beth's car. "Here," she says, walking forward and handing them to Paul. The ex-soldier stares down at the keys for a moment then at Sarah's hand, which is still open and waiting. He pulls out a set of keys from his coat pocket, places them gently in her palm.

"What are you going to do?" He asks.

"I'm going to find them."

"Where?"

"I don't know yet, but we need to keep moving; I know that's what Mrs. S is doing – she'll keep running until she thinks they're safe."

"Alright," Paul says resignedly. "Alright?!" Felix interjects, "This is crazy!"

The other two seem deaf to his protests, however, as Paul pulls a phone out from his coat pocket, hands it to Sarah. "Here's your new phone – you destroyed your own phone before you got here right? Good. Alright – if you need help or if you find Kira, just call the preset number listed under Lilith Charles. I already gave a new phone to Alison and Cosima before they headed out. Just call the number and if you need to check for messages, type in #5472. Got it?"

"Yeah." Sarah looks up at him, blinks. "What are you going to do?"

"I'm going to drive Beth's car back into the city, abandon it someplace where the chance it will get stolen is pretty high. Then I'll wait for Leekie to call me, tell me what he wants me to do next for them."

"You're sure he'll still want to work with you? How do you know he won't just have you killed?"

Paul shrugs. "I guess I don't, but I think my military intelligence skills are still too useful to them to just terminate me." As the last word leaves his lips, Sarah surges forward and wraps her arms around his torso. He leans over her small frame, holding onto her like it's their last embrace: maybe it is. They cling to each other for a moment only before Sarah slips out of his arms and stumbles her way around to the other side of the car. She hops into the driver's side and slams the door shut.

Paul and Felix look at each other. "I guess I better get our stuff then," Felix murmurs. He works quickly, shoveling their clothes and other items out of Beth's car and into the other one. Sarah sits straight-backed in the driver's seat the whole time, not even glancing back at him in the rearview mirror. When he's done loading the vehicle, he turns back to Paul who hasn't moved from his spot either.

"Right then," Felix offers his hand to Paul who takes it almost automatically. "You take care of yourself."

"You, too." Paul moves out of the way so Felix can climb into the other car with Sarah. Felix barely even closes the door when the car engine roars into life and the Toyota shoots backward out of the parking lot. Felix turns in his seat as the car starts down the overlook's incline. Paul is still standing, tall and still, next to Beth's car, watching the other vehicle drive away. Felix twists around, glancing at Sarah who is equally still, her face set hard as stone.

"You okay?" He asks. Sarah doesn't even bat an eyelash, just continues to stare forward, driving down the gravel lane. Felix sighs, digs his iPod out of his pocket, pops his earbuds in and scrolls through his music list before finally selecting "Smother" by _Daughter_.

As the bare trees on either side of the road rush by like skeletal soldiers standing guard, the words of the song drift up through his headphones:

"I'm wasted, losing time

I'm a foolish, fragile spine

I want all that is not mine

I want him but we are not right.

In the darkness I will meet my creators

And they will all agree, that I'm a suffocator…"

* * *

For the seventh time since leaving the café, Cosima checks the messages on her new phone. The voice-mail beeps then plays the all too familiar 'you have no new messages' recording. "Come on, Delphine. Leave a message; let me know that you're okay," Cosima hisses angrily at the phone.

"Ma'am?" The cabbie asks, looking back at her in his rearview mirror.

"Oh. Uh, nothing." Cosima waves her hand dismissively at him, and then nestles back into her car seat. She presses the phone against her chest and looks out the cab window, watches the pattern of snowflakes fall against the glass. The taxi tires rumble as the vehicle starts across a bridge. The river below is half-frozen, the patches of open water dark and listless. In the distance, Cosima spots a murder of crows winging toward the river's far shore. Cosima watches them wistfully, wishing – not for the first time – that she could fly away, too. With a wry chuckle she remembers that she's heading for the airport: only she'll be flying towards danger, not away from it.

For a moment Cosima thinks about Sarah, on the run now, probably, and about Alison who should already be back at home in the suburbs, safe with her kids and husband. But then the cold plastic of the phone in her hand draws her attention back to it. Without a second thought she dials in the message code. Like the last eight times she holds her breath, waiting until the familiar 'no messages' recording plays. Cosima sighs and ends the call. She presses the phone to her lips and whispers, as if in prayer, "Come on Delphine…call…"


	4. Chapter 4

IV.

The silver clock on the blue craft room wall ticks loudly in the quiet of the house; no kids are yelling upstairs, no TV stereo is blaring ESPN from the family room – just a peaceful, reassuring quiet that seems to embrace the hypnotic tick of the clock. Dressed in a two-piece aqua track suit, Alison Hendrix sits at her white craft table. Neat piles of brightly colored coupons create a frame around a brand new cell phone sitting in the exact center of the table. The phone is flanked on the left side by a pair of blue handled scissors and on the right by a black Walther P99 pistol. Alison's tongue clicks against the back of her teeth, in time with the clock's seconds hand. It's as close to a state of Zen as she's reached in a very long time; for just a moment she finds bliss in the neatly ordered world of her craft room, where the Geneva clock is not the only precise thing about her life. The clock's seconds hand clicks to '12' and it is now exactly 10:45 AM.

Alison allows herself one more contented tongue click; then she sighs and feels her inner peace rush out. She picks up the phone and dials into voicemail, pressing speakerphone and placing the phone back in its spot on the table. The voicemail clicks through then plays the message, "There are no new messages. There are eight saved messages." Alison's finger lingers over the 'delete messages' key but then, just as she's done for the past four days, she scrolls down and selects the 'play saved messages' option. Silence and then:

"_First saved message, February 3__rd__ at 10:32 AM_: 'Uh, yeah, this is – er – C. I'm safe – for now. Have made contact and will be heading West soon. Okay. Del – I mean D, leave a message as soon as possible; let me know you're okay. I didn't plan to get separated like that, but…damn, okay, just call. Please.'

_Second saved message, February 3__rd__ at 2:47 PM_: 'This is S and F. C – I thought you said to only leave short messages. Negative on Tokyo, but we're safe and following another lead.'

_Third saved message, February 4__th__ at 3:03 AM_: 'Seriously, D – please call. Let me know you're okay. Okay? Uh, this is C. Okay. Bye.'

_Fourth saved message, February 4__th__ at 12:16 PM_: 'Oi, oi, ladies. This is F and S. We're still safe, just a little grumpy – well S is anyway. Ta ta for now.'

_Fifth saved message, February 4__th__ at 5:08 PM_: *long pause, followed by sniffling sounds* 'Please call, D.'

_Sixth saved message, February 5__th__ at 1:28 AM_: 'I'm fine, ma chère. I'm so sorry I haven't been able to call before now. Merde! I have to go, but I'll see you soon – yes?'

_Seventh save message, February 5__th__ at 1:32 AM_: 'Oh, thank God, Delph – er – D! This is C, obvs. It's good to hear your voice! Um, yeah, I'm heading your way tomorrow. So, um, hey, I'll see you soon! And S, A, and F, you be S-A-F-E, okay? Ha, ha, ha. Uh, so I may be a little stoned right now *sound of potato chips crunching*, but I'm totally feeling okay lungs-wise; I think the weed may actually be helping. Mother Nature's miracle cure and all that. So, okay…I'm glad you finally called, D – see you soon. And….shit, I dropped my joint – hang on just a mo –'

_Eighth saved message, February 5__th__ at 9:42 AM_: 'Seriously, C, wasn't it you who said to keep the messages brief? Glad D is okay, though. F and I are safe – for now, though things got a little hairy yesterday. No word yet on K but we'll keep looking. Everyone stay safe, yeah?'

End of messages."

Alison considers her phone again. To delete or not to delete? Finally she exits out of voicemail and punches in speed dial for Lilith Charles. The phone immediately goes to the auto-attendant. Alison picks up the phone and holds it to her cheek. "This is A. I'm safe at home. Still. Everyone be careful." For the last four days she's left the same message, quick and precise like clockwork. Except this time she's added the word 'still'. It's only a small thing, but Alison purses her lips angrily at herself and shuts the phone off. She places the phone back down on the center of the table, aligns it perfectly using her two index fingers and thumbs. She glances at the clock for reassurance: 10:55 AM - precisely. Sitting up straight in her chair, Alison tries to achieve a nirvana state again, clicking her tongue in time with the seconds hand: tick, tick, tick. But now she can only feel an unsettled flutter in her chest.

* * *

Bang, bang, bang!

The metal sliding door reverberates under Art's clenched fist. The din echoes down the narrow brick hallway tagged in arcs of brightly colored spray paint. Angie stands next to Detective Bell, her gun drawn and ready. Bang, bang, bang! He pounds again, this time yelling, "Open up! This is the police!"

There is only silence on the other side of the door. Art glances over at his partner who shrugs. He tests the door with just his fingertips and discovers that the door isn't locked, rather it glides smoothly open. The two detectives stand in the doorway looking into the apartment. Inside furniture is smashed and twisted, ripped pages from books lay in crumpled heaps on the floor, and splatters of yellow, red, blue, green paint coat the floor in swirls of color as if the room is one giant spin art piece. Art takes one small step in and his foot slips in a pool of orange paint on the floor. As he begins to fall, Angie deftly catches him and rights him on his feet.

He murmurs his thanks and steps back out into the hallway, leaving orange shoe prints on the cement floor. "Great," he says, prying off the offending shoe.

"Well, it sure looks like someone's been having fun," Angie whistles, still standing in the doorway peering into Felix's apartment. "You think it's the same people who tossed the foster mother's place?"

"I'd bet on it. Either way, though, it sure looks like Sara Manning has gone underground."

In a surge of fury, Angie grabs the handle on the door and slides it closed with ferocious slam, yelling "Suck my salty matzah balls, motherfucker!"

"Really?" Art asks straight-faced, looking up from his painted shoe at her. She stands looking back at him with her fists on her hips, practically growling. Then her frown cracks into a smile and she chuckles, "Yeah, I might have been up late last night binge watching _Dexter _again."

"Oh good. I love it when you do that – always makes for a fun day of creative expletives and morbid dialogue. Alright, clearly we're coming up against brick walls again." Art pulls a small leather-bound notebook out of his inside jacket pocket. He starts flipping through the pages, scrutinizing his notes. Finally he settles on a page. He puts his shoe back on, then pulls his phone out, calling the precinct. "Thacker – hey, it's Detective Bell – yeah, hey, I need you to run an address through the system for me, find out who lives there…yeah, okay it's 35 Black Oak Drive in Scarborough. Yeah – 'B' – as in Black…" he rolls his eyes at Angie who squints back at him. "Sure, I'll hold." He covers the speaker with his thumb and shakes his head at Angie, "How Thacker ever made it to the force…" – he takes his thumb away – "Yep, I'm still here…seriously? It's 'O' as in Oak…"

"Is that the place we swung by the other day?" Angie hisses. Art nods his head and speaks into the phone again, "Alright, you say it's Alison and Donnie Hendrix. Any priors on either of them? None? Okay. Yep, I got it – Hendrix – with an 'H'. Okay, thanks –" he starts to hit end, but then puts the phone back up to his ear. "What was that? No, this isn't about the strangulation. 32 Black Oak Drive, you say? Huh. When'd that call come in? Aynsley Norris? Alright…got it. Thanks, Thacker."

"What's going on?"

Art shrugs. "Probably nothing. There's no priors on Alison Hendrix."

"She's the look alike?"

"I assume so, yeah. But Thacker recognized the address from a call that came in a few days ago, apparently there was some kind of freak accident at the house across the street. A woman's scarf got caught in the garbage disposal and it strangled her."

"Wicked. I mean, jeez. How does something like that happen anyway?"

"Really crappy luck? Come on. I think it's time we made another run out to the suburbs," Art says as he slides his notebook and phone back into his jacket.

"Shouldn't we call this in?" Angie jerks her thumb back at the apartment door.

"I don't want to bother with the paperwork right now. Let's just go speak with this Hendrix woman first; we'll call this in later." He turns and starts down the stairs, leaving a trail of orange treads. Angie following close behind. As they descend, their conversation floats up the stairwell: "So did the scarf actually strangle her or did her neck snap?"

"What?"

"The woman and her garbage disposal? I mean either way she died of asphyxia, but…"

"Jeez, Angie! Stop watching _Dexter_!"

"What? Hey, a girl's gotta have a hobby…"

* * *

A black limo pulls up in front of the new, modern office building, constructed mainly from glass and gray metal panels. Sunlight glints off the odd angles of the roofline as the black-tinted windows that make up much of the building's façade obstruct all view of the building's interior. The polished chrome trapezoidal plinth in front of the structure reads "The DYAD Institute • Irvine, CA."

The limo driver gets out of the vehicle, walks around to the other side and opens the door for the occupant within. A thoroughly awe-struck Cosima emerges, shading her bespectacled eyes from the sun as she soaks in the view of the building. She's wearing purple heels and a purple dress that slopes down at the back, almost mirroring the slope of the building's roofline. She continues to stare, gripping her briefcase to her chest, until the driver clears his throat, "Excuse me, Miss. Dr. Leekie phoned me just as we were pulling up. He said he would meet you inside at the front desk."

"What? Oh, yes. Yes, of course. Thank you."

The driver nods and walks back around to the driver's side of the limo, where he disappears with a slam. The sound seems to jump start Cosima; she moves forward, up the four wide steps to the office building's revolving darkly-tinted doors where she hesitates. A feeling of dread creeps up the concrete steps after her, presses against her back.

"Great. Well, here goes. Once more into the breach, my friend," she murmurs to herself, "you brave and buggered fool."

The revolving doors swallow her and for a moment she feels trapped until the doors rotate open into a huge bright white lobby, decorated sparsely with minimalist black leather furniture and a maze of aluminum air ducts and blue LED pendulum lights overhead. At the end of the lobby is a large circular reception desk built out of what Cosima can only describe as the world's coolest fish tank. She can see bright fish darting in and out of small coral reefs and just a flash of long, dark legs that belong to the receptionist who sits behind the desk, wearing a very short red dress. Beyond and to the left of the reception desk are two large electric blue doors which are flanked on either side by two large burly men in black uniforms. Each man holds a large, black semi-automatic in their hands.

Cosima gulps and sways in place for a moment. And then her heels are clicking across the marble tile floor of the lobby towards the aquarium desk. She hopes her exaggerated saunter covers the fact that her knees are practically knocking together.

"Hi. I'm Cosima Niehaus. I believe I'm expected," she says as she reaches the reception area.

"Yes, Miss Niehaus, Dr. Leekie told me to expect you. He should join us here momentarily."

"Oh. Good. So…this is some place you've got here," Cosima says, running her left hand across the chrome surface of the desk. She glances down at the fish tank portion of the console, eyes sinking into a watery world of blues and greens in which fish of all colors and sizes dance and spin.

"Can I offer you anything? A coffee? Water?"

"Do you happen to have any courage on hand?" Cosima half teases, still mesmerized by the salt water tank.

"I'm afraid I only have coffee or water." The receptionist's response is completely lost on Cosima, however, who has just caught sight of something in the tank that makes her whistle and lean down farther until she's practically sitting on her heels, nose pressed up against the glass.

The doors behind the reception desk open and both Dr. Leekie and Dr. Cormier walk through, each donning white lab coats. Leekie pauses, looks around the seemingly empty lobby before turning to the receptionist. "I thought the driver said that Ms. Niehaus had arrived."

"Yes, she did." The receptionist points to the front of the desk.

"Ah, yes," Aldoues says as both he and Delphine walk around the desk to find Cosima still pressed face-first against the curved side of the tank.

"Cosima." No response. "Cosima," Aldous says louder.

"What? Huh? Oh!" Cosima rises swiftly to her feet then has to balance herself against the desk as a wave of dizziness momentarily passes over her. "Oh, Dr. Leekie." When she spots Delphine, just slightly behind and to the right of Leekie, Cosima has to grip the edge of the desk again. "And, uh, Delphine." Her thick voice cracks and she takes a moment to clear her throat before saying, "Umm, oh, I was just – just admiring the tank…"

"It is quite –"

"But are those – are those Axolotl? 'Mexican Walking Fish'?" She points enthusiastically at a group of five brownish fish-like creatures who are crawling along the bottom of the fish tank on four legs.

"Why, yes, actually. Don't tell me you're an ichthyologist as well as an evolutionary biologist."

"Oh, they're just a personal favorite of mine. And technically they aren't fish at all, but rather amphibians. I know a lot of scientists who use them for research because of the Axototls' regenerative abilities – they can regrow severed limbs – and because their eggs are so large it's possible to observe the embryos gestate. Personally, I just think they're super cool reminders of where we came from. Up out of the ocean depths and onto dry land, as it were."

"Always the Darwinist, Ms. Niehaus. Well, you'll fit in quite nicely here. Welcome to the DYAD Institute, where wonders are just around every corner." He sweeps his arms out and bows a little.

"I didn't realize I was signing up for Willy Wonka's Chocolate Factory. Will there be a psychedelic boat ride later?" Cosima's eyes slide to Delphine who is fighting a grin.

"And always the cheeky one, too, I see. Well, if you'll follow Dr. Cormier and me, we'll show you around," Aldous says, offering his arm to Cosima. She walks past him and falls in step with Delphine as the blonde turns and ushers Cosima towards the blue doors at the end of the lobby. As the doors hiss open automatically, Cosima glances nervously from side to side at the guards. "Hi," she squeaks and waves nervously at both of them, "I'm new here." Neither man shows any sign of having heard her. Cosima leans towards Delphine, "They're not going to shoot me are they?"

"No. They're really only there for show," Delphine teases back under her breath.

"Hmm, they do match the furniture nicely."

The doors lead to a main corridor from which a myriad of narrower corridors branch off in several directions. The floors here are black epoxy that glare in the bright white light of the overhead fluorescents and reflect the white metal paneling of the walls. Cosima feels like she's just stepped into a rat maze.

"How was your trip from Minneapolis? I trust you enjoyed the private flight?" Leekie asks, catching up to the two women as the lobby doors close behind them.

"It was fine."

"Have you had time to see your new apartment yet?"

"No, the limo brought me straight here."

"Well you're personal items should actually be arriving today, as well, so you should be able to settle in quickly tonight. Shall we show you to the research lab first? Your home away from home?"

"Sure. You're the tour guide."

Leekie smiles and turns down the second corridor on their right, Cosima and Delphine trailing behind.

"How are you feeling?" Delphine asks as they walk.

"Fine; tired, but the coughing episodes haven't been too frequent."

Delphine audibly sighs. "Good. Well, we have you set up to see our team of doctor's this afternoon. They'll run a series of diagnostic tests, take x-rays, et cetera – determine the extent of your illness."

"Looks like it's scientific experimentation for me, then," Cosima jokes, but Delphine gives her a serious look, eyeing her up and down as if performing her own diagnostic scan.

"It's important that you keep us informed on your health, Cosima – let us know if you notice any changes in your symptoms or in your energy level," Aldous says as he pulls up in front of a heavy-looking white door.

"I said I'm fine."

"Ah, yes. Well, Cosima, here we are – your own private lab; well, our own private lab. No one who isn't on the team gets past these doors, so we're assured of complete confidentiality."

Cosima glances up and down the corridor. "I'm not sure if I can find my way back here again."

"Oh, you'll get used to it. As you see, this is room 1S-17," Aldous says, pointing to the black room ID number etched into the white lintel above the door. "And here," he points to the retinal scanner and pin pad to the right of the door, "is the security pad. You'll need to use both the retinal scan plus type in your seven digit number in order to access the room; we'll make sure to get your code set up later this morning." Leekie leans towards the retinal scanner, opening his right eyelids wide with his fingers. A green light on the security pad lights up and he hastily punches in a code; activating a second green light. The lab door slides open automatically.

The room behind the open door is as sophisticated a laboratory as Cosima has ever seen; it's filled with a wide assortment of brand new lab equipment laid out in neat lines along the sterile table tops. Cosima sucks in her breath and practically skips forward into the room, her wide eyes zooming back and forth in every direction taking it all in. She's actually 'ooohing' as she walks around the lab, reaching out every once in awhile to touch a line of flasks, a microscope, a centrifuge, an incubator. Both Delphine and Leekie have stepped into the room, the door hissing shut behind them. They watch Cosima dance around the room, as smiles creep across both their faces.

The far end wall of the laboratory is made of thick tinted glass that looks out into an outdoor courtyard, vibrant with exotic plants. Cosima stops in front of it, her fingers splayed against the window, peering out. She suddenly spins around, hands clasping together and she laughs a long throaty laugh.

"Amazing, isn't it?" Delphine asks, her eyes beaming with her own laughter.

"This is – more than amazing. It's, it's, oh, holy Einstein, is that an AutoGenprep 965?" She moves towards a machine covered in a white lift-top lid, which she lifts up. Beneath is a row of silver pipettes capping sterile test tubes. "This is like, top of the line in DNA sequencers. It must cost a fortune."

"Well, yes," Leekie confirms. "And we have two of them – just in this lab alone." But Cosima isn't really listening, she's already moved on to a 3D display microscope.

"Whoa, oh, this is awesome," she says pushing buttons until it turns on. She waves her hand under the microscope and the image is displayed on the large monitor next to the microscope. Her skin looks like an arid, alien landscape riddled with deep valleys, sink holes, and tall spiny vegetation. "This baby has a 2500x zoom. Crazy cool."

"I take it the lab is up to your satisfaction?" Dr. Leekie asks.

"Dude," Cosima whistles looking back and forth between Leekie and Delphine, "this is the Chocolate Factory! I'm half expecting the Ooompa-Loompas to burst through the door and start singing about species specific effects of oxygen deprivation in synthetically generated human mesenchymal and hemopoietic stem cells."

The lab door slides open and Cosima's mouth drops. But instead of diminutive green-haired men, a single woman with severely bobbed blonde hair strides in, tall in a pair of two inches black heels and a matching black business dress.

"Ah," the woman says with a clipped British accent as she spots Cosima, "good. They told me you had arrived, Ms. Niehaus."

"Er –" Cosima squeaks.

"Rachel Duncan," the other woman offers, striding forward confidently with her hand outstretched. "It's a pleasure to finally meet you."

"Oh, yes," Cosima fumbles, suddenly feeling very, very awkward. She thrusts out her own hand and shakes Rachel's outstretched one, perhaps a little too eagerly. "It's good to meet you."

Rachel takes her hand back with a small tug, brushes it against her dress as she turns towards Dr. Leekie. "Aldous," she greets. She then turns towards Delphine and offers a hand to her as well, "And you must be Dr. Cormier. Aldous tells me that you have done exemplary work on behalf of the Institute."

"Thank you. It's kind of you to say," Delphine says graciously as she shakes Rachel's hand.

"Um, I'm sorry. Ah, Rachel is it?" Cosima interjects. Rachel turns away from Delphine, clasping her hands together with a slight forward tilt, a gesture that Cosima can't help but compare to Alison.

"It's Ms. Duncan, yes."

"Oh, of course, Ms. Duncan. Yes. I'm sorry, but are you on our research team?"

"Oh." Rachel's laugh is like birds twittering. "No. I'm the CEO of the DYAD Institute's main headquarters in London. I just happened to be in town for a conference and I wanted to meet you. I trust that you're finding the facilities to your liking?"

Cosima is openly staring at Rachel now. She blinks several times before realizing that Rachel is waiting for a response. "Oh, sorry, yes. I was just telling Dr. Leekie and Del—Dr. Cormier how amazing everything is…sorry, I don't mean to stare. You'd think I'd be used to the Clone Club by now, but, you know – eeep."

And now it's Rachel who is looking Cosima up and down. "The Clone Club?" she asks, her clipped accent even more pointed.

"Oh. It's what we call it – Alison, Beth, Sarah and I. Well, not Beth anymore. Except, of course, there's you now. Just don't use the 'C' word – that's Alison's rule."

"Hmm…"

"Yeah, so, uh, you said you're the head of the London Division?"

"That's right."

"Are you a scientist, too, then?"

"No, not really. My background is actually in Child Psychology with a Masters in Macro Economics."

"Sounds like the perfect combination for a career in the human trafficking of children," Cosima quips. She smiles lopsidedly to show she's trying to be funny.

"Yes, well. Hmm…it has been a pleasure, Ms. Niehaus. Aldous?" She asks, turning back to him, "May I have a word in private please?"

"Of course. Dr. Cormier, perhaps you wouldn't mind showing Cosima the rest of the facility while I'm away?"

"Certainly."

As Rachel and Aldous depart, Cosima turns to Delphine, the brunette's mouth already forming a question as she reaches towards the taller woman. Delphine's suddenly wide eyes make Cosima stop short. She follows Delphine's casual eye movements to two corners of the room where she spots surveillance cameras, red recording lights blinking. Cosima's mouth snaps shut and her hand falls back to her side as she shifts slightly backwards and away from the other woman.

Delphine forces a polite smile and carefully says, "I'm glad to hear that you like the lab – we've been working tirelessly the last few days to make sure everything was ready for your arrival."

"Oh, yes, well," Cosima draws out as her mind scrambles to think of something benign to say, "I can certainly tell; it, uh, has everything."

"I don't believe Dr. Leekie mentioned it but there are five of us on the research team. Aside from Dr. Leekie, yourself, and I, there are Dr. Yun Yi and Dr. Joris Hyman. You'll meet them first thing tomorrow morning; today is mainly a tour of the facility and, of course, the medical tests this afternoon."

"I'm sorry – did you say, 'Dr. Hyman'?" Cosima asks, cocking her head in a way she knows Delphine finds charming. Delphine fights the sudden laugh rising in her chest by biting her bottom lip. The immunologist shakes her head slowly at the other woman, but the spark in her brown eyes makes Cosima's smile widen.

"Yes, I did. He's actually a very well respected pulmonologist," Delphine says slowly, trying to sound serious. She starts heading for the door while she continues, "I'm sure you'll like him; he drives a Volvo."

"Wait – seriously?" Cosima asks, tagging along beside her. Delphine looks at her and shrugs, but her eyes are gleaming merrily. She touches Cosima's arm briefly in what she hopes looks like just a casual gesture and says, "Come on, I'll show you the rest of the facility."

Cosima grin is absolutely toothy now, damn the cameras. "Okay, but only if we get to ride on the psychedelic boat ride."

Delphine narrows her eyes at the brunette, tilts her head and smiles secretively. "We'll see, mon amie, we'll see. Hmm, but only if you promise not to swim in the rivière de chocolat…'' As the lab door slides shut behind them, Cosima's voice echoes throatily down the white corridor, "Hey, even I know what that means – and I'm not promising anything!"

* * *

"Chocolate?" Aldous offers, holding out a box of locally-made, cruelty-free bonbons to the woman who stands before his desk. "They're delicious." He draws the 's' out extra long through his large teeth. Rachel's arched eyebrow practically disappears into her hairline. She folds her hands together, pointedly not accepting Aldous' offer.

"You're in a good mood today, Aldous."

"Hmm, well, I always enjoy showing off the facility – especially to someone as full of wonderment as Cosima." Aldous rocks back in his brown plush sued office chair, his elbows leaning on the chair arms as he shakes one long index finger at Rachel. "You know, I seem to recall a young girl who was equally as enchanted – I used to see her skipping up and down the hallways singing Lehrer's "The Elements Song." In fact, Ava tells me that's her favorite song now –"

"Yes, well, Ava aside for the moment," Rachel begins and every word sounds like she's chewing them, "is everything ready for Ms. Niehaus' medical tests this afternoon?"

"I hand-selected the doctors myself – picked from the best of our ranks. They'll give us a detailed analysis on the state of Cosima's current health and check for all the usual culprits: bacterial infection, cancer, pulmonary aspiration, blood clots—"

"We already know what it is, Aldous, we've seen it multiple times before."

"You know I hate it when you call me that."

Rachel sighs and straightens the jumble of pens that stand in the yellow ceramic mug on Leekie's desk. Aldous watches her for a moment before continuing, "Spontaneous cell degeneration, yes – perhaps – but we need to make sure that we're not dealing with something else. Treating her for the wrong thing could be as bad as no treatment."

"We can't afford to lose another one of them," Rachel says as she straightens the last pen.

"I know. I certainly don't plan to – sit down already would you, please? You're making me nervous with all of your fussing." Rachel rolls her eyes slightly but she sits down gracefully in one of the chairs in front of his desk. Leekie makes a pleased 'ah' noise. "Good. Now, as I was saying, I have everything lined up with the doctors and with my lab team. Dr. Cormier has agreed to run the blood samples herself, as well as a full DNA analysis - match it against all known pulmonary conditions. Once we isolated the cause, we can start working on a way to fix or, at least, slow the damage. The team in Tokyo has already made some great strides forward –"

"That's what you said when Aimee became ill."

Aldous steeples his fingers together and glances out his tinted office window. It's an old argument between the two and Aldous feels the shard of guilt move in his chest like it always does when Aimee's name is mentioned. That Rachel's words drip with long embittered accusation doesn't help. Aldous crosses his legs and idly plays with the shoestrings on his black Converse. A long silence descends on the two as they both seem to dwell in a place of memories. Finally Aldous licks the corner of his mouth before very abruptly changing the subject, "Any word on Sarah Manning?"

"No. Not yet, seems she's deserted all of her known haunts. Even the police are looking for her, without success, so far. But, thanks to your Mr. Dierden we know that she and her foster brother are looking for Sarah's daughter. They'll crawl out of the woodwork sooner or later looking for answers –"

"And we'll be waiting for them," Aldous finishes.

"Correct..." but the way Rachel's word trails off and the way she is now looking sideways at him, makes him realize that there is something else on her mind now.

"What?"

"I trust that you have the situation with Dr. Cormier under control as well?"

"The situation?" Aldous' lips twist up at the corner as he scrutinizes her. The normally very stoic and business-like woman before him squirms in her chair under his gaze. She reaches for the name plate on his desk and ever so intensely straightens it so it's perfectly aligned with the edge of the table. Finally he un-steeples his fingers and laughs gutturally. "Ah…you've been talking with Diana."

Rachel looks up at him from beneath her lashes as she runs her left pinky through her blonde bobbed hairdo. Leekie laughs again. "Yes, clearly she's been regaling you with more sagas of my lecherous ways. Well," he says leaning forward in his chair, "next time you see your mother, please tell her that I am thoroughly enjoying Dr. Cormier's – what's the term – professional assistance."

Rachel shakes her head and rises elegantly out of her chair. "You can tell her yourself next time you decide to go home." She picks up a stray paperclip that rests askew on his desk. As she plops it into the paperclip tray, she adds, "Father."

It's the closest thing to a farewell that Aldous receives from her before she spins on her heel and departs his office.

* * *

"You've barely eaten anything, dear."

Alison blinks at her plate of sirloin cutlets and sautéed zucchini and yellow squash, then up at the woman sitting across from her at the dining room table.

There is something about Caroline Hendrix that has always made Alison feel as though she is doing something wrong; perhaps it's her mother's gray, flinty eyes that never cease to narrow slightly when they look at Alison or perhaps it's the trace of disappointment that seems to lace every word she sends Alison's way. Whatever it is, Alison always finds the muscles in her neck tightening when her mother is around. In high school Alison's anxiety was so intense she developed a head tick whenever her mother so much as entered a room. Even now Alison feels a tremor building in her spine and she puts a hand to her cheek to calm herself.

"Have you not been feeling well?"

"I'm fine, Dad," she says, turning to the man who sits next to her at the table. She puts her fork down and pats his arm affectionately. The blue eyes under his bushy white eyebrows smile at her as he pats her hand back.

"Good, good."

"Do you like your surprise, Mommy?" Gemma asks and Oscar says, "Yeah - were you surprised when Grandma and Grandpa showed up?"

_Alison had been surprised alright, but none too pleased when Donnie brought the kids home from the mall later that morning. The kids had bolted through the back door cheering, "Surprise! Surprise! Surprise!" Alison had laughed with them, thinking they had bought her home a gift – they were always bringing her small items back from their shopping trips with their dad (generally garish cartoon stickers for her scrapbooking that she pretended to love, but promptly hid away into a bottom drawer in her craft room when the kids weren't around) – but this time she looked up to see her mother and father entering just behind a grinning Donnie. _

_She had pulled Donnie aside as soon as the opportunity presented itself and hissed, "Why didn't you warn me they were coming for a visit?!" Donnie actually looked taken aback, "I thought you'd want to see them, especially now that things are getting back to normal again around here." Alison closed her eyes and clamped her teeth. The vein in her temple throbbed. "Fine, but they're not staying the night!" She'd exclaimed and stormed back out into the living room where her mother was dispensing presents for the kids from her overnight bag. "Where's Dad?" She'd asked and her mother had said, "Why he's taking our other luggage up to the guest bedroom, of course. Be a dear and take this up, too, for me." She tried to hand Alison the bag but Alison had made a sound halfway between a sob and a curse before spinning around to go back to the kitchen. Moments later Alison started chopping up vegetables for lunch with such vehemence that everyone decided it was better to stay out of the room until she was done. _

Ding dong! The doorbell shakes Alison from her thoughts.

"Were you expecting anyone else?" Alison asks turning to Donnie, a forkful of zucchini halfway to her mouth.

"No…" He looks at her expectantly.

Ding dong! Ding dong!

"I'll get it!" Gemma announces, jumping up from her chair.

"You'll do no such thing, young lady," Alison says as she rises out of her own chair and wags a finger at her daughter. "You stay here and finish all your vegetables, then you may have dessert." Alison wipes her mouth with her cloth napkin before she heads towards the front entryway.

At the door, Alison pauses to look out the side window. A black man and white woman stand outside, both dressed in jeans and dark winter jackets. The man sees Alison peering out and he flashes his police badge. Alison's mouth pops open in a wide 'O' and disappears out of sight behind the door. "Jesus, Joseph, and Mary!" She exclaims under her breath, crossing herself for good measure. She takes an extra moment to collect herself; she smooths down her bangs, straightens her blouse, and puts her hand to her heart, inhaling deeply several times. Alison opens the door.

"Yes?" She asks.

"Alison Hendrix?" The man asks as both he and the woman examine her with narrowed eyes that would put her mother to shame.

"Yes?"

"Mrs. Hendrix, I'm Detective Art Bell and this is my partner, Detective Angela Deangelis." This time they both present their badges so she can examine them. Alison feels the world tilt; there is definitely a buzzing sound in her head as she realizes that this man is Beth's former partner. "We'd like to speak with you regarding Aynsley Norris. Could we come in?"

Alison puts her hand to her throat trying to unstick her words. Finally she says, "I have company right now. Can this wait until another time?"

"It's really important that we speak to you – it will only take a few moments."

Alison glances back into the house where she can hear the clatter of silverware on plates and the murmured voices of her family. She looks back at the officers. "Alright," she says, "but I'll speak to you out here." She steps out onto the porch and pulls the front door closed behind her.

* * *

The young male orderly is obnoxiously clicking his pen again as he scans his clipboard full of notes.

Cosima fights the urge to rip off all of the EKG leads stuck to her various body parts and strangle him with them. Instead she grits her teeth and glares up at the ceiling trying to pretend that she's anywhere else but lying on a gurney, wearing only a skimpy medical dress, and shivering in the cold, sterile exam room buried deep within the bowels of the DYAD's Irvine facility.

The orderly stands to her left, his mop of curly brown hair obscuring most of his face while on her right an older, middle-aged doctor with a severe black mustache and short cropped hair, checks her vitals. She can't decide which of the two she hates the most. The blood pressure cuff on her right bicep automatically turns on and tightens like a boa constrictor as air pumps into it. The doctor looks at the monitor next to her head and reads off, "Blood pressure at 118/76, heartbeat holding relatively steady at 81. Here, breath into this." He puts a Spirometry mouthpiece against her lips before she can even react. She gags slightly but does her best to breath long and hard into it. She tastes copper at the back of her throat and when the doctor pulls the mouthpiece away there are tiny drops of bubbly red liquid on it. The doctor sighs and wipes it down with a sterile pad before jamming it to back into her mouth. "Breathe again, harder this time." Cosima inflates her lungs then blows as hard as she can. This time the coppery-red taste overwhelms her and she starts to wheeze, then cough. The doctor takes the mouthpiece away. "Wipe your face. We have to try it again." He hands her an antibacterial cloth, which Cosima takes and gasps into it for a moment or two before her breathing returns to normal.

The door to the exam room opens and someone enters. The doctor turns to the person and says, "I'm not quite done here, I still need to take blood samples and do another Spirometry test."

"I'll do it," Delphine says angrily, coming into view and grabbing the mouthpiece out of the doctor's hands. "You're done for the day, Dr. Egosi."

"Dr. Leekie—"

"Agrees with me. He's in the observation room if you want to speak to him directly about it," she says nodding her head towards the two-way mirror on the wall behind the doctor.

"Very well, then," the doctor says, pulling off his blue gloves and throwing them in the biohazard waste bin as he exits the room.

Delphine turns her back to the two-way mirror and peers down at Cosima, her brown eyes soft with concern. She puts her fingertips to the inside of Cosima's right wrist, pretending to take her pulse but really just needing to touch the other woman who looks so small and scared lying on the exam room gurney. "How are you feeling, Cosima?" she asks with a slight tremor in her voice.

"Brilliant," Cosima answers, trying to smile even as she wipes the spittle of blood off her own face. Delphine takes the cloth from Cosima's hand and gently dabs at the other woman's chin. The brunette closes her eyes for a moment then opens them again, taking in the hazy image of Delphine standing over her. She adds, "I'm okay, really, just a little tired of being poked and prodded."

"I know," Delphine says softly. "But we just have a few more tests and then we can send you to Radiology for some x-rays of your chest."

"Oh my favorite: naughty pictures!"

Delphine grins but continues, "And then you can go home for the day. Bien?"

"Yeah, okay." Cosima looks over at the orderly whose clicking pen had fallen silent the moment Dr. Cormier entered the room. He's very obviously checking out the blonde immunologist from behind the curtain of his own wavy tresses. Cosima clears her throat, getting his attention. "Are you finished now, too?"

"Uh…" he's looking at Delphine again then back down at his clipboard. He shuffles through his papers before settling on a page, "Uh, I have some medical history questions I still need to ask."

"Then please proceed." Delphine waves him on as she turns to collect the necessary items she needs to draw Cosima's blood.

He hems distractedly, openly watching Delphine as she bustles around the room. Cosima snaps her fingers at him saying, "Dude!" and he looks back at the patient. Roses bloom on his otherwise pale cheeks. "Oh – uh—right. So question one: is there a history of any known illnesses such as cancer or pulmonary disorders in your family?"

"Seriously? Is your head really that far up your –"

"Just write down 'no'," Delphine interjects from the other side of the room.

"Uh, okay. I'm writing down 'no'. Question two: do you drink alcohol?"

"If you're asking for my drink order, I'll take a Bloody Mary." The orderly brushes back his hair so he can stare at her, his pen resting silent in his hand. Cosima sighs then answers, "Yes, I drink alcohol." Cosima feels Delphine's fingers back on her upper arm, tying on a rubber tourniquet.

"How often?" The orderly asks. Cosima glances up at Delphine and smirks, "Oh, whenever I happen to find a bottle of wine lying around." Delphine rolls her eyes and dabs at the inside of Cosima's elbow with an antiseptic cotton swab.

"Do you smoke?"

"Only weed, man. Maybe three times a week, maybe more depending just how far down the rabbit hole I want to go." The orderly looks up at Cosima then back down at his notes, writing verbatim.

"Question four – er – are you sexually active?" His cheeks are burning before he even finishes the sentence.

"Hmm, well, not right at this moment," answers Cosima who is intently watching Delphine slide a sterile needle, as gently as she possibly can, into Cosima's cephalic vein. Delphine glances into Cosima's eyes and involuntarily licks her bottom lip. Cosima mirrors the gesture; she's never enjoyed having blood drawn so much.

"How long since your last sexual encounter?"

Cosima feels Delphine's hands still against her arm for a moment and realizes that the immunologist is holding her breath. Cosima fights the urge to glance at the two-way mirror on the wall, sensing or perhaps only imagining that Dr. Leekie is waiting intently just on the other side for her answer. Cosima rolls her shoulders and squints up at the ceiling, "Uh, I guess it's been about four months or so. Before I moved to Minneapolis anyway, so, yeah about four months, maybe five." Delphine's fingers start moving again, drawing out the now full syringe.

"Any chance that you are pregnant or have contracted a sexually transmitted disease?" The orderly's eyes are roaming over Delphine once more as she turns to put the blood sample into the collection tray. Cosima considers strangling him again and the monitor beside her shows a definite uptick in her heart rate. Once again she controls her impulse, however, and answers, "Let's see: no, we used protection – both a condom and birth control – and I think I would be showing some pretty obvious signs of pregnancy by now, if I was, not to mention that my menstrual cycle has remained regular. Besides, while I haven't been specifically tested for it yet, I'm pretty sure I'm infertile. As for STDs, well, like I said, condom. But I've also gotten tested since and everything is negative. I'm nothing if not the poster child for safe sex."

The orderly is now scribbling information down as fast as he can, trying to keep up with Cosima's prattling as she continues, "Seriously, I was on the Safe Sex Committee in high school. We advocated safe sex over abstinence – 'cause like that's gonna happen. Anyway, I was like literally on the educational posters we put up around the school: in one I illustrated how to properly put a condom on a penis – of course I was actually using a banana, but you get the idea. In another I was peering out through a dental dam - that one was artistic as well as informative."

At Cosima's side Delphine laughter flutters out of her throat like a kaleidoscope of butterflies. Cosima beams her toothy grin at her. The orderly has stopped writing notes and is looking back and forth between the two women, his mouth gaping open. Finally Delphine waves away her own laughter and turns to the orderly, "Are you all done with your questions?"

"Uh," he looks down at the questionnaire. He's on question five – out of thirty-five. "Yeah, sure. For now."

"Okay, I need to try to get some more Spirometry results now. Could you get Ms. Niehaus a robe and socks from the locker please?"

"Oh, yep, I'm on it."

Delphine meanwhile gingerly removes the EKG leads from Cosima's face, arms, and upper chest. Once Cosima is free of her constraints, Delphine helps her slowly sit up. Delphine gives her a few moments to let any dizziness pass and then has her breathe several times into the Spirometry tube. Cosima is calmer now and doesn't cough. "Okay, good. That's all we need from you here, Cosima." Delphine takes the blue terry cloth robe and non-slip hospital socks from the orderly and helps Cosima put each item on.

The door opens and Dr. Leekie strides into the room, asking, "All done here?"

"For now, yes," Delphine concurs.

"Good, good." He rubs his hands together. "Mr. Roberts," he turns to the orderly, "perhaps you could escort Ms. Niehaus here to Radiology?"

"I would be happy to take her," offers Delphine.

"Actually I'd like a word with you, Dr. Cormier," Aldous says holding up his hands. "So, Mr. Roberts if you could help Ms. Niehaus find her way…"

"Sure, Dr. Leekie." Both Cosima and the orderly look back as the door closes behind them, Cosima to give a reassuring smile to Delphine and Mr. Roberts to ogle Delphine one last time.

Aldous turns to Delphine and smiles lazily, "It looks like you have another admirer."

Delphine makes an unimpressed sound under her breath as she turns away to fiddle with the Spirometry equipment, printing out the results.

"Dr. Egosi is not a fan, however. He wanted to lodge a formal complaint against you for kicking him out of his own exam room. I think I've persuaded him to let it go."

"He may be a brilliant doctor but his bedside manner is horrible," Delphine exhorts, punching buttons to turn off the lab equipment. She jumps when she feels hands slide casually around her hips and feels warm, moist breath on her right ear. Aldous whispers heatedly, "Hmm, yes. You're bedside manner is by far superior. In fact, I've been missing it quite a lot these last couple of weeks."

Delphine squeezes her eyes shut tight, as she tries to keep her breathing even and normal. He must think, however, that the sudden hitch in her breath is desire, because he fully encircles her waist with his arms and nuzzles her neck. "Come to my place later tonight."

"Aldous…"She slides her hands under his arms to release his grip and turns to him, her face set in what she hopes is a convincing smile. "I have a lot of work to do tonight, between analyzing Cosima's blood sample and running the DNA sequence. I'm afraid I'll be working quite late."

Leekie frowns and touches her check with his index finger. "Alright. But soon."

"Oui, of course." He moves to kiss her and she turns her face just at the last moment, reaching for the Spirometry results off the printer. His lips brush across her upper cheek. Delphine waves the paperwork in front of her face with one hand and grabs the blood sample tray with the other. "I'm sorry Aldous, but I really do need to go."

"Hmm, yes." He steps away, giving her just enough room to brush past him and she hurries out of the room. Aldous hums to himself as he watches her go, grinning like the Cheshire Cat who's about to eat a very fat white rabbit. He's not as obtuse as his daughter and wife might argue; he can clearly see Delphine's attentiveness towards him has waned significantly. He's also notices the sideways looks and secretive smiles between Cosima and the immunologist. He might not know for certain how deeply the women's connection is, but he has a pretty good idea. It actually amuses him on some level, even though his jealousy complicates his humor. Well, he has moves of his own to play and if there is one thing that Aldous Leekie loves more than anything in the world, it's playing a competitive game of chess. Idly he flips on and off the EKG machine, just long enough for the machine to fill the room with an echoing, 'Bing!'

* * *

"You knew Mrs. Norris?" Art asks, flipping open his small black notebook. He is trying not to stare too openly at the woman who stands before him on the front porch. She looks so much like Beth – so much like Sarah Manning, but there's just something so very unfamiliar about her as well. It's like seeing yourself in a funhouse mirror – you know it's you, yet there's something oddly 'other' about yourself. With Alison, it's in the way she keeps fussing with her hair to make sure her bangs are straight. It's in the way her eyes flit from the detectives to the other houses along the street as if she can't decide which is worse – talking to the police or having her neighbors see that she is talking to the police.

"Yes, we've known each other for seven years, I guess it's been. Ever since my husband Donnie and I bought this house." Her words come out as vapor in the cold afternoon air.

Art studies his notebook then says, "One of our other officers talked with a neighbor of yours, a Mrs. Meera Kumar, the other day. She said that you and Mrs. Norris had a bad falling out a few days before Mrs. Norris died."

"Oh, well, I wouldn't say we had a bad falling out so much as a misunderstanding…"

"She told the officer that you had sex with Mrs. Norris' husband in the parking lot of the fitness center, a few weeks back. Mrs. Kumar and her daughters apparently witnessed the – incident," Angie states. She is most definitely appraising the smaller woman before her. She'd never liked Beth and was finding this Suburbian copy of her to be just as unlikable.

"Yes, well. I fail to see how this is relevant."

"We're just trying to establish the series of events leading up to Mrs. Norris' death. It may help us discover if this was merely an accident or possibly a suicide," says Art.

"What? But, I thought it had already been ruled an accident – a freak, freak accident."

"I'm sure you can understand things from our perspective," Angie explains, "I mean a woman's best friend sleeps with her husband in the woman's own SUV, no less, in broad daylight and in a public place where other people in the neighborhood can see and then, oh yes, the two women have a public brawl in the middle of the street that same night. Woman is betrayed not only by her husband, but by her best friend. Woman files for divorce and decides to move as far away as possible from her supposedly best friend, but the whole time she's thinking – what did I do to cause this? Was it me – did I do something wrong? How long has my best friend been betraying me like this? Has my husband ever really loved me? And then an opportunity presents itself and she stuffs her scarf into the running garbage disposal and then bzzzzzzzz *choke* she's strangled to death and never has to think about her best friend and husband's betrayal ever again. Granted, it's not the normal way a woman chooses to commit suicide, but it's damn right effective."

Alison is staring at the female detective with a look of horror, eyes and mouth wide, a hand to her throat. Even Art is looking at his partner as if she's suddenly gone mad.

"Back on point, Mrs. Hendrix," Art fills in the growing silence, "Did you happen to see anyone going or coming from Ms. Norris' house on the day that she died?"

"No, why would I – was someone else there?"

"We have another a statement from a Mr. Hart down the street, said he thought he saw someone leaving the house in a hurry that day – but he didn't have his spectacles on and couldn't really make out who it was. He did say that whoever it was seemed in a hurry and crossed over to this side of the street."

"Well, I – no – I don't know who that would have been—" The front door opens suddenly behind her and Alison jumps, squealing.

"Alison, what's going on out here?' Donnie asks, sticking his head out the door and taking in the scene before him. Caroline stands behind him, craning her neck over his shoulder.

"Sir, I'm Detective Bell and Detective Deangelis, we're here to ask your wife a few questions."

"Oh, sweet Lord, Alison, what have you done?" Caroline gasps.

"Nothing, Mother. Thank you. They were just asking me about Ansyley."

"Oh that poor, poor woman, she was such a dear friend to Alison. And now her poor kids are going to have to live without their mother. Such a tragedy."

"Donnie, why don't you and Mother go back inside and finish dinner. I'll be right behind you. I think we were almost finished here. Yes?" She turns back to Detective Bell, but she can tell that neither Donnie nor her mother have moved one inch from the doorway.

"Yes, I think we've covered our questions for the time being. But here's my card in case you think of anything, such as who the person might have been that was seen leaving the house."

"Of course."

"Have a good day." The two detectives turn to walk away, but Angie stops and spins back. "Mrs. Hendrix, just one more question."

"Hmm…"

"Do you know a Sarah Manning?

Alison pauses for just a fraction of a moment, but in that moment both Art and Angie see Alison's stoic expression fall as the woman's cheek twitches involuntarily. They look at each other, then back at Alison.

Alison says, "No, I don't know who that is." She turns, hastily grabs the mail out of the mailbox and shoos Donnie and her mother back into the house as she closely follows. The door slams shut behind her.

Several hours later, after waiving off numerous attempts by her mother to find out what all the police had said, and after sitting through yet another tense meal followed by an evening of tense card playing with her parents and Donnie, the house is finally quiet again, with each person tucked into their respective beds. Donnie is lying next to Alison; snoring loudly. His snorts and snuffles are almost loud enough to cover the thumping beat of her heart. Sleep is a distant, far off thing and Alison sighs. Carefully and quietly she slips out of bed and sneaks down the upstairs hallway, past rooms where Gemma and Oscar slumber, past the room where her parent's sleep, their breaths loud and even. Alison tiptoes down the steps, on a mission to grab the rum from the dining room buffet. On her way back out of the dining room, rum in hand, she notices the mail that she had brought in earlier that day piled on the hallway table. She grabs it and heads downstairs to her craft room.

The craft room light blinds her momentarily when she turns it on, then she puts the bottle down before sorting through the mail, organizing it into bills, cards, and junk mail to be shredded later in the morning. As she thumbs through, she spots a brochure illustrated with a wood engraving of Adam and Eve standing naked, except for strategically placed fig leaves, before the Tree of Knowledge. The image looks splotchy, as if it's gotten wet and the ink is running. She throws the pamphlet on the shred pile, but something flutters out and she stoops to pick it up off the floor. It's a small torn piece of red magazine paper that merely says '"sheep" on it; the word has been underlined several times with a black Sharpie.

"What in the world?" Alison whispers.

She picks up the brochure again, staring at the front scene, ink is definitely bleeding through. She unfolds the tri-fold brochure on top of her craft table. Alison gasps. Inside, the pamphlet typed text has been scribbled out with red pen, but glued to the center panel is a black and white image of Alison's face, raggedly cut out of some larger photo. Below her picture is pasted individually cut-out magazine letters reading, "We know what you are" followed by an empty, tacky space where the word "sheep" must have originally been glued. In the margins of the brochure, running across the top and then clockwise along the other sides, in tightly slanted handwriting, is scrawled: "Psalm 139: 13-14a: For it was you who formed my inward parts; you knit me together in my mother's womb. I praise you, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made."

The brochure slips out of Alison's quivering hand as the clock on the wall turns to 3:24 AM.


	5. Chapter 5

**V.**

Cosima jolts awake, gagging. For a moment she lays paralyzed, heart pounding, eyes flickering from the pattern of yellow-white lights above her on the ceiling to the unfamiliar shadows on the walls around her. As she slowly begins to realize where she is – in her bedroom in her new apartment – she swallows down the lump of copper phlegm that is rising in her throat. She's sprawled out on her new king-size bed or, more accurately, she's sprawled out on the heaps of medical charts, x-rays, DNA sequences, and blood sample reports that cover her new bed. A book is jabbing into her hip and as she shifts away from it the whole bed crinkles underneath her. Streetlight spills through the large uncovered windows, though even in the light, everything is still hazy. Cosima casts out a hand, groping through piles of paperwork, trying to find her glasses. She clutches about fruitlessly for several moments before she remembers she'd left her glasses in the bathroom on her way to bed.

The floorboards creak quietly as she pads out of the bedroom towards the bathroom, clumsily bumping against the mostly un-open moving boxes that litter much of her apartment. When she reaches the bathroom, the porcelain penny-round tiles are cold on her bare feet and she scuttles forward to the fuzzy bathroom mat before turning on the light. Cosima blinks blindly in the instant brightness until her eyes adjust. In the floor-length mirror next to the bathroom door she looks like a living zombie, dreadlocks sticking out in different directions, purple-blue half-circles under her eyes, and a faint trail of dried blood on her chin. Her skin is almost white against her black tank top and red men's boxer shorts (decorated with black hexagonal "Torchwood" emblems). She walks to the sink and throws some cool water on her face, wiping away the blood from her chin and sleep from her eyes. And she had been sleeping, she realizes, sleeping for the first time in several nights. Not only sleeping but actually dreaming. She stares at her reflection in the mirror above the sink, trying to remember her dream. Something about Oompa-Loompas, she thinks. Yes, definitely Oompa-Loompas – sticking syringes into her arms and legs while she laid strapped down to a gurney. And Dr. Leekie was there too, his big white teeth gleaming in the spotlight overhead, trying to stuff a tube down her throat. And yes, of course, Delphine, was there too; Delphine's voice echoing out of the darkness beyond, reciting William Blake's "Tyger, Tyger" – in French.

"Huh," Cosima says to herself, leaning forward to look more closely at the splotches under her eyes in the mirror. Yes, it had definitely been French and Cosima had understood it all. She wonders if everyone is smarter in their dreams, or if they only dream in gobbeldygook and their conscious sorts it out later as something meaningful. Just a few short weeks ago such a question would have had the young scientist running for her laptop to read up on dream studies and cognitive ability. Tonight, however, she takes a swig of tepid water from the half-empty water bottle sitting on the bathroom counter and swishes it around her mouth trying to clean out the taste of blood.

Rat-a-tat-tat, the light knocking sound resonates down her apartment hallway. Cosima cocks her head at the sound, her cheeks still bulging with water. The apartment building is old, built in 1901, and has what Delphine calls "American charm" and what Cosima calls "kick-ass American architecture" and it's not unusual to hear strange noises in the night: air squeezing under failed window seals, slightly warped floor boards contracting in the cooler night temperatures, the original metal cage elevator clinking to a stop between floors as passengers depart. The tapping comes again, a little louder, and Cosima realizes that someone is at the front door. She spits the water out into the sink; the liquid is visibly pink against the white enamel. "Great." Cosima sighs, then wipes her mouth dry on a purple hand towel. She grabs her glasses from off the bathroom counter and wedges them squarely on her face as she stumbles off towards the apartment's front door. Faint light filters through the transom above the door but Cosima pauses to flip on the floor lamp; the pale yellow light illuminates the craftsman style apartment in which she now lives.

There is no peephole in the solid wood door to the apartment, so Cosima presses her lips against the door jam and asks, "Yes? Who is it?"

"It's Delphine – I know it's late –" The door is open before Delphine even finishes her sentence.

"Delphine – what?" Cosima peeks into the hallway, then grabs the blonde woman's wrist and pulls her into the apartment, continuing, "What are you doing here? Is everything okay?"

They've managed to avoid this scene up until now: this late night calling. Not that they hadn't both individually considered it – often – especially since Delphine lives in the same apartment complex, just two floors down. But Dr. Leekie's sharp predatory eyes have been watching them so intently in the lab that their paranoia of being watched has even followed each of them home at night. Sometimes when Cosima is pacing around her apartment, she imagines Delphine two-floors down doing the same thing. Though, of course, Delphine has been getting even less sleep than the brunette – spending ungodly amounts of time at the lab. That morning Cosima had arrived at the lab at 6 AM to find Delphine asleep, half-draped on one of the table tops, her slender arms pillowing her head. Cosima had let the woman sleep. Instead of running the centrifuge, as she had intended to do, Cosima had sat down at the table next to Delphine and had stayed there, uncharacteristically still, for an hour or so before Dr. Leekie arrived and woke Delphine with a cheery, "Good morning, ladies!" As Delphine woke with a disoriented start, Cosima had very nearly thrown a glass beaker at Leekie's head.

"I'm fine, I just came across this research paper," the blonde's voice trails off as she turns towards Cosima. Delphine's eyebrow arcs and her eyes are definitely flowing over Cosima's form. As Delphine's eyes climb back up Cosima's body, the blonde's tired face lights up with a slow smile. Cosima actually finds herself blushing under Delphine's intent gaze and she subconsciously crosses one foot in front of the other. "I like the boxers," Delphine says finally and the look in her eyes says, 'and everything else, too.'

"Oh, yeah," Cosima replies, looking down at herself, "Well, you know, 'the 21st century is when everything changes'." Delphine's eyebrow arcs even higher. "Never mind. Um, you were saying about the research paper?"

"What? Oh, of course, yes. I found this paper on spontaneous cell degeneration in clone cells – technically, swine clone cells, but look, they were researching ways to try to slow down or stop the degeneration. It's not very conclusive, but they detail the list of methods that they tested. It might prove helpful." The two women are standing next to each other now, upper arms brushing against each other as they both scan through the report. Delphine looks up from the pages and sees Cosima furrowing her brow.

"Yeah, I actually came across the same report a day or two ago," Cosima admits. "There's actually a follow-up paper – they tried several variations, but never achieved any positive results." All excitement drains from Delphine's face and her shoulders slump.

"Oh. Oh, I'm so sorry, Cosima, I thought maybe I had stumbled onto something…"

"No, it's okay," Cosima replies, rubbing her chin, trying to wipe away the exhaustion. "Do you," – she yawns – "do you want a drink? I think I have some apple juice and water, of course. No wine, though, I drank the last of it the other evening."

"You're tired – I should go so you can rest," Delphine says, taking a step towards the door.

"No, really, it's not a problem. Though actually you should be the one getting some rest – you look exhausted." And she does, now that Cosima really looks at her. Delphine's normally thick and shiny hair is pulled back into a limp pony tail and there are hallows in her cheeks and dark circles under her eyes that rival Cosima's. "You're not getting enough sleep."

"I can't sleep," Delphine admits with a shrug.

"Why?" Cosima asks and the shimmering brown-green eyes that look down at her are all the answer Cosima needs. "It's okay really – I'm okay."

"I reviewed the results of your latest chest x-rays earlier…"

"Can't stop looking at my naughty pictures, eh?" But Cosima's attempt at humor is futile; she sees it in the way Delphine is frowning even before she finishes the sentence.

"Cosima…

"Yeah, I know." Cosima waves her hands around as if she can ward off the conversation. She sighs and walks over to the red crushed velvet settee, the only piece of furniture currently in her living room. She sinks into it and pats the cushion next to her. "Come on, sit with me."

Delphine looks at Cosima, then at the door.

"Come on, Delphine." Cosima pats the cushion again. She tilts her head and grins through her own exhaustion. "You know you want to."

"Oh, oui, really?" Delphine asks, but she's laughing softly and shaking her head in an almost playful way. She crosses the room and sits down next to Cosima.

"See," Cosima says as she nudges the other woman with her shoulder, "No Leekie jumping out saying, 'Gotcha'!" Delphine mumbles a 'hmm' in response and rolls her eyes as she leans her own shoulder into Cosima. "Mm," murmurs Cosima and Delphine murmurs, "mm" back. Their temples touch next, just ever so lightly, Cosima's right temple against Delphine's left. Both women close their eyes and allow themselves to just lean against the other, bodies slowly relaxing. A minute goes by, maybe two.

Delphine's soft, thick voice breaks the silence. "I don't know that I can do this again, Cosima."

Cosima panics and opens her eyes. "Do what? This – us?" Delphine shakes her head but her eyes remain firmly shut as if what she says next would have been too hard to say otherwise, "No…lose someone I love again."

_Love, love, love, love, love;_ the word reverberates down the synapses in Cosima's brain, firing off into a multitude of directions. Probably for the first time since Delphine told her and the others about her childhood, Cosima realizes just how much loss Delphine has faced in her young life. The thought brings a surging wave of empathy with it that almost cracks Cosima's heart open.

"We'll find something, Delphine. I promise," Cosima whispers and she takes Delphine's hand in hers.

We have to," Delphine whispers back.

Cosima gives Delphine's hand a tiny squeeze. She kisses the blonde's cheek, then rests her temple against Delphine's again and closes her eyes. Cosima allows herself to revel in the feeling of warmth flowing between them. Five minutes pass in silence, then ten; both women relax against each other and fall asleep.

* * *

"Oi, wake up!" Felix's voice penetrates Sarah's sleep. She pretends not to hear him. "Oi, I said – wake up!" This time his words are accompanied by a carelessly aimed pillow that whacks her across the temple.

"Oi yourself, you arsehole!" Sarah barks, grabbing the edge of the offending pillow and pulling it out of her foster brother's hands.

"It's not my fault you're not a morning person."

"Yeah, well, neither are you." She opens one eye and looks at him. He's half-leaning, half-laying on her hotel bed, staring down at her. He flips his orange scarf back over his shoulder and sips at the coffee he holds precariously in his left hand, then says, "At least I look good in the morning."

"Ugh," she moans and pushes his face away with the palm of her hand. He wobbles precariously on the edge of the bed, only just catching himself from falling over backwards.

"You are such a twat. And here I brought you a coffee." He takes another sip of steaming liquid.

"Is that my coffee you're drinking?" Sarah growls, sitting up. Her hair is tangled about her face and she pushes it back with one hand. Sarah yawns and suddenly notices the foul taste in her mouth and her head is splitting. _Too much ale at the pub last night_, she thinks and rubs her eyes.

"No, you're coffee is over there," Felix says, jerking his head towards the dresser where a large cup of coffee sits.

"Fee – you're a god-damned godsend," Sarah says, jerking herself out of bed and over to the coffee, trying to ignore the stiffness in all of her muscles.

"Yeah, well, it's about time you noticed. And you're welcome by the way. Alright, drink up and then go take a shower – you're ripe! I could barely sleep last night from the smell," Felix complains as he stretches out luxuriantly on Sarah's bed. "Then we can go track down that Prichard lady."

That seems to rouse Sarah more than anything. She takes a large gulp of hot coffee and says, "We should go right now."

"Seriously, Sarah. Go shower, we want to make a good impression on this woman."

"Nice. Fine. But then straight there, yeah?"

"Aye, aye."

Sarah guzzles the coffee on the way into the bathroom, pausing only to grab fresh clothes out of her suitcase. The bathroom's overhead fan whines when she turns on the light and she tries to ignore the stains on the tiled floor. It's not the nicest hotel they could have stayed in, but they are trying to conserve as much money as they can from what cash reserve Alison gave them before the group parted ways; there's no telling how long their search for Kira and Mrs. S might take and they want to avoid Alison having to wire them more money. That might alert the Neolutionists to their presence, especially since Sarah and Felix are practically in the DYAD Institution's backyard. Not that the DYAD's London headquarters were located in Brixton, but the two foster siblings are paranoid about making too many ripples in the pond.

Sarah splashes water from the bathroom sink on her face. She looks up at her reflection in the cracked mirror and moans at what she sees. Her eyes are puffy, with bruise-like semi-circles underneath and her hair is tangled and greasy – and is that a piece of chip in her hair? She knows she drank too much last night in the pub down the street, but she can remember most of the evening and she certainly doesn't remember eating any chips. Ugh. She picks it out and throws it into the waste basket.

_They had been in London almost a week now, after their few leads in Canada had proven fruitless. They'd even risked going back to the house once, to snag Mrs. S' old photograph book (and one of Kira's favorite stuffed animals – a purple monkey that still smells like her and which Sarah keeps safely tucked into the bottom of her suitcase.) Sarah had finally decided that London was, in fact, calling and they'd left for their old stomping grounds. Her plan had been simple – find the neighborhood in which they'd once lived and canvas the area for people that might remember Mrs. S from years before. But the neighborhood had changed in both demographics (more affluent with young couples looking for a slightly more affordable London address) and in geography (old tenement housing had been replaced with modern row houses and faux greystones). So Sarah and Felix had moved deeper into South London, generally staking out social service agencies and pubs, asking the locals questions. They had gotten kicked out of a couple places for being too noisy and once from a pub because the bartender didn't want any 'faggots' in his place. Sarah had smashed her ale bottle against the bartender's head and he and some of his customers had chased the foster siblings through three alleyways before Sarah and Felix had been able to evade their pursuers by ducking into the back of a late night karaoke bar. _

_Still, they went out every night and tried new pubs while during the day they went from social service agency to social service agency showing both recent and past pictures of Mrs. S. Very few people seemed eager or willing to talk to them, even at the pubs where they always offered plenty of free drinks as incentives. When people did want to talk, it was mostly to hit on Sarah, sometimes on Felix, or sometimes on them both. Each day went by without any real leads and Sarah felt the chords in her body twisting tighter. Finally, last night Sarah had decided to merely get wasted at the tavern they'd stumbled into. She was almost beyond any sense of reason when Felix brought a middle-aged man, donning a flannel jacket and overalls, to the table. He had recognized the younger Siobhan in one of the photos. Oh, "aye, she'd been quite the looker in those days" and "aye, she used to hang out with those radical women down by them textile factories, always going on about how Thatcher's new regime was strangling the common folk." And then he remembered the name of one of the other women that had hung out with Siobhan in those days, a "Miss Anwen Prichard – aye, she was even more of a looker but she was one of those fanny bashers, you know?" He leaned real close so Sarah could smell the whiskey on his breath, "Lezzies they call 'em now." _

"_Ah, yes, the dear old Lezzies," Felix agreed. _

"_Sure, yeah –anyway, I still see her around from time to time – as fuckable as ever. Shame she don't like cock."_

"_Yeah, she doesn't know what she's missing, right? Well, it's been a real pleasure," Felix said and he had gently turned the man away from their table and gave him a little push towards the bar; that was all it took for the man to ramble away back in search of another drink._

"_Miss Prichard," Sarah said suddenly long after the man had wondered off. "Yeah, I think I remember her actually. I think she used to come over to the house a lot, bring us sweets she'd made. Remember?" Sarah flipped clumsily through the book of photos she had brought with them to the bar. Finally she stopped at one and pointed to the young woman in it. "That's her! Miss Prichard, yeah."_

"_Oh. My. God. That's the Brandy Snaps lady! Oh, I loved her! Think she put something gay in the cream filling?"_

"_Probably," Sarah slurred. "Come on, let's go. Maybe she's in the phonebook." Indeed Ms. Anwen Prichard had been in the phonebook and at an address not that far from the hotel at which they were staying. It had taken everything Felix had to keep Sarah from heading straight to the woman's place. "It's two in the morning. Let's wait for normal visiting hours: we want her to be agreeable, yeah?"_

Sarah splashes more cold water on her face and brushes her fingers through her hair to get out the worst of the tangles. Then she peels off the clothing she's been wearing for the last two days and steps into the stained and musty shower.

* * *

"Have you seen my blue polo? You know the one with the orange horse on it?" Donnie asks as he walks into the kitchen, startling Alison awake just as she was about to doze off over her morning coffee. She fights the urge to wing her yellow cup of Joe at his head, instead repeating a mantra she's been saying in her head the last few days, _"Poor, sweet, Donnie he's put up with __so__ much lately."_ Only she hasn't been sleeping lately and the dark circles under her eyes are actually aching and the mantra doesn't seem to be working so well this morning.

"What, honey?" She asks as she rubs her cheek.

"My blue polo? Have you seen it?"

"Oh, yes. Hmm…oh, I put it in the washer last night."

"So it's still wet then? Dang it, Alison, I was going to wear that today!" He says exasperatedly and turns and walks back out of the kitchen adding, "Fine, I'll go switch the load over." Alison reconsiders throwing her coffee cup at him, but it's too late, he's through the doorway and out of range.

_It's been a week and a half since Alison received the religious pamphlet that "Helena's people" had clearly sent. Ten days of being afraid to leave the house, of keeping all the window covers drawn, of taking the kids directly to and from school, of not letting Gemma and Oscar go outside to play or go over to their friends' houses. Ten days since she'd almost shot her own parents when they came down to the kitchen the next morning – their hushed murmurs and footsteps on the floor above her head waking Alison out of the inebriated stupor she'd fallen into. Alison had snatched up the Walther and drunkenly bumped her way up the basement stairs to the first floor. Her mother and father had rounded the hallway corner just as she emerged from the stairwell and she had actually pointed the gun straight into her mother's face._

"_Alison! What on God's green earth are you doing?!" Her mother had exclaimed, her hand at her throat and her eyes wide in terror. Behind Caroline, Alison's father looked just as horror-struck._

"_Mother! Dad! Uh –" Alison looked down at the gun for a long drawn out moment then tried to hide it behind her back saying, "uh, I, uh, heard a noise and thought someone had broken in."_

"_Alison, what were you thinking? You almost shot your mother!" Marion Hendrix said and the distress in his voice finally seemed to sober Alison up._

"_Actually the safety was still on, so technically –"_

"_What's going on down here?" Donnie broke in as he pounded down the stairs. "Alison, what are you doing?"_

"_Your wife almost shot me!" Caroline accused. She was always giving someone else ownership of Alison. "And she's been drinking!" She sounded almost more horrified by the smell of rum she could detect wafting off Alison than by the gun her daughter was still trying to hide behind her back._

"_I heard – I thought – it was just –" Alison started._

"_Mommy?" Gemma's voice called down from the top of the second floor, they could hear her feet start hesitantly down the steps. _

"_Give me that," Donnie said and he'd grabbed the gun from Alison's hand and disappeared into the kitchen and out the backdoor before Gemma reached the first floor landing. _

"_Darling, honey," Alison said, smoothing back her daughter's hair, "go back upstairs and play quietly for a little while. Your grandparents and your dad and I are just having a little discussion. Go on, go back up – and don't wake your brother. I'll come get you soon for breakfast. Okay?" _

_Gemma hesitated for a moment then turned and hurried back up the stairs. After the little girl had disappeared out of sight Alison had been berated by her parents and a freshly reappeared Donnie about the dangers of having a loaded gun in the house. Donnie refused to tell her where he'd hidden the gun. Her mother had suggested therapy. Several times. In fact, her mother seemed to work in the importance of seeing a good shrink every time she got the chance for the rest of the day. Alison did her best to ignore the comments, as she nursed her pounding head and pounding heart. _

_Later that night, Alison had snuck down to her craft room again. She'd worried all day that she had left the pamphlet out where someone, such as the kids or her mother, could find it. But neither her parents nor Donnie had let her out of their sight that day and she couldn't check on it earlier. She was relieved to see that she had apparently stuffed it in the shredder the night before, probably right after she had downed the rum; a tiny piece of the brochure was still sticking out of the shredder teeth. Alison pushed another paper through and the rest of the pamphlet disappeared into the shredder without a trace. _

_She'd checked her phone next. She vaguely recalled leaving a message for Sarah and Cosima the night before telling them about what had been delivered to her door. She also vaguely remembered sitting up the rest of the night waiting for phone calls back, which never came. Now, however, there were two messages._

"First new message_, _February 6th at 4:13 PM_: Shit, Al—, I just got your message! I totally thought you'd be safe at home! Okay don't panic whatever you do. Obviously they're just trying to scare you right now; otherwise you'd be dead already. Er – damn – scratch that. Sorry. Okay, I think maybe you need to call Leekie, tell him that you've received a threat. I know, I know, but right now the enemy of my enemy is my yada yada. Right? Okay, until then stay inside and, uh, you still have your gun? You might want to keep that handy. Call us back soon – okay? I really am sorry, man; I should have seen it coming! _End of first message_. _

Second new message, February 6th at 7:07 PM_: Bloody hell, A! Whatever you do, don't mess with them, yeah? Helena's people, they're like scary shit crazy! Fee says to use Donnie as a human shield, if you have to. But really, keep your gun handy. And I think maybe C's right about calling Leekie. God, I don't know. Just stay safe and, call us back regularly, let us know you're okay, yeah? I'm sorry we're not there to help…_End of messages_."_

_Well eff the both of you, she'd thought. Call Leekie, right. The last thing she wanted was to bring that man back into her life and open up the opportunity for him to put another monitor on her. As if he could really protect her and her family from the likes of Helena, anyway. In the end, it had been Sarah who had taken care of Helena, not Leekie. Sarah had taken care of Helena the way Alison had taken care of Aynsley. No, she wasn't even going to think about Aynsley anymore. She had done what she had to in order to protect her family, to protect her sense of normalcy and she didn't feel at all guilty about it. Not one bit. She had defended her family once and, by God, she could do it again._

Donnie walks back into the kitchen, looking a bit sheepish. "Sorry I snapped at you, I'm just tired. I know I promised I'd be better, more attentive and helpful. And, look, I know that things have been hard on you lately, but I really had thought that things were getting better and then those police officers came and you spiraled again. "

"I know, Donnie. I know, it's just—"

"We all deal with death differently but it's like Aynsley's death has you all of a sudden afraid for your own mortality and worried that something bad will happen to the kids. But, Alison, it feels like we're living in a funeral parlor with the curtains drawn all the time. And the kids aren't allowed outside. And you and I are back to yelling at each other. Alison, seriously, something has to change. Now." He's looking at her with such a sad and tired expression that Alison feels a pang of guilt for dragging him into all of this. Not for the first time since she'd signed Leekie's contract, she finds herself wondering if she should tell him everything about her "special circumstances" (she's refusing to say the 'c' word again), about being monitored, about the pamphlet she'd received. But she knows she can't do that to him, someone in this partnership needs to be normal so that life can go back to the way it was. _"Poor, sweet, Donnie he's put up with __**so**__ much lately."_

"You're right," she says and she lays a hand on his arm. "I know you're right. I've been – silly. I've just been…"

"Grieving over Aynsley, I know. I know you two had your issues there at the end," – his eyes shift away and she knows he's thinking about Todd and the parking lot and her betrayal of their wedding vows – "but she'd been your best friend for years. And then for her to die like that…"

Now Alison is remembering the last time she saw Aynsley – chocking and begging for help as the garbage disposal pulled her scarf in. No, she's not going to think about that. She needs to focus on protecting her family and part of keeping them safe is creating as normal a life for them as she possibly can. Hiding behind curtains is definitely not normal. In fact it's rather creepy. She begins to worry that maybe she's damaging her children's psyche.

"You're right – I've been too overprotective," Alison declares suddenly, sitting up straighter on the kitchen stool. "We should take the kids out someplace today."

"Really?"

"Yes. Maybe the ice-skating rink?" She says and then remembers the last time she took the kids there. "No, not there – how about the arcade?"

"Yeah, they'd like that. And, you know, I love the arcade. I was the reigning Galaga champion at my frat for three years during college," Donnie says, flexing his muscles.

"I remember," replies Alison and she smiles indulgently at him; he mentions his arcade game prowess whenever he gets the chance. "Alright, I'll go get the kids up. You sit and relax – coffees ready and I'll make some breakfast when I come back down." She stands up and kisses Donnie before she bounds out of the kitchen, feeling more like her old self.

* * *

The taxi bumps and jolts along the cracked and potted street, constantly jostling the two passengers in the back seat. Sarah is furiously rubbing her forehead, as if she can massage away her hangover while beside her Felix stares out the window at the passing architecture. The tall and skinny Victorian row houses in this neighborhood are old and neglected; the small front gardens are mostly full of weeds while the short brick walls that separate the gardens from the street are tagged with spray paint. Most of the graffiti is crude in style and content, generally telling people what they can go do to themselves. On occasion there is one that is artfully done and Felix sighs, feeling a deep pang of homesickness for his old apartment.

Finally he turns to look at his foster sister and sees that she is checking the voice messages on her cell phone. He holds his breath, waiting to see if the messages are good or bad. But she's only on the phone for a moment before she hangs back up and rubs her forehead again.

"Any word from Alison or Cos?" Felix asks.

"No, not since yesterday."

"Poor Ali. She just wanted to go back to her normal life."

"Yeah, well, no rest for us clones – clearly." She glances at the taxi driver who seems oblivious to their conversation.

"And…" Felix draws out the word.

"And, what?"

"Any word from Big Dick Paul?" This time Sarah notices the taxi driver glance back at them in the rearview mirror before putting his eyes back on the road.

"No."

"Come on admit it. You're worried about him," Felix says, nudging her in the arm with his elbow.

"He's a big boy. He can take care of himself," Sarah answers, turning to look out the window as if the view has suddenly gotten more interesting instead of the same sorry march of houses. Felix isn't letting it go so easily, however, and he leans over and puts his mouth close to her ear, saying, "So when you say big boy – just how big are we talking here?"

"Leave off, Fee," Sarah growls and she pushes him back towards his side of the taxi.

"Ow. You've been grouchy ever since we left him behind at the river. I mean, obviously you have other things on your mind, too, but I know you like him. No matter what you might want people to think."

Sarah rolls her eyes and looks back out the window. The taxi is slowing down and she realizes that they are getting near the address they wrote down from the phonebook. Finally, the vehicle pulls over along the left curb and the cabbie announces, "We're here." Sarah takes it as a mercy and thanks him, hands him the fare and says, "Give us five minutes to make sure someone's home, yeah?" He grunts in response.

Sarah and Felix hop out of the cab and step up onto the narrow sidewalk. As soon as they've cleared the road, the cab pulls out and drives quickly off. "Oi!" Felix yells, taking a few running steps after it, then he stops and turns back to Sarah. He starts to say, "No bloody manners," when he sees a dented, black Ford Fiesta pull up just a few feet away. He can't be certain but he thinks the two guys inside it look like blokes they've seen a couple times during their late-night pub runs. Sarah glances back for a second then starts walking towards the row house marked #219.

"Come on," she says, tugging at his sleeve and pulling him along. He's walking half-backwards beside her, keeping an eye on the car, from which one of the guys emerges. The man is tall and thin with hollow cheekbones. He's wearing brown work clothes and a gray newsboy cap. He leans against the hood of the car, crosses his arms and watches Sarah and Felix walk away. The other man still sits in the driver's seat and looks like he's talking on the phone.

"Sarah," Felix hisses as she starts pulling him up the steep steps of unit #219.

"I know," she says, "I see them. Just stay close to me."

"Yeah, alright."

They're at the door now and Sarah reaches a fist up to knock on the red weathered door. The door opens before her hand even touches it. A grim faced woman glares out at them from behind it. A gun is in her hand and it's pointed right at them.

* * *

Bang!

The lid of the dumpster slams shut. Paul wipes his greasy hands on his soil-stained white apron and turns back down the narrow alleyway to the metal door propped open with a brick. He slips through the doorway into the back of an industrial kitchen filled with steam and noise and the combating smell of boiled cabbage, cooked bacon, and eggs just this side of sulfur. He nods his hair-netted head at the various other workers as he goes by until he finally arrives at the cracked porcelain sink where he starts washing the rest of the filth from the garbage bags off his hands.

"Not the most glamorous jobs, I know," says a female voice as someone slides up alongside him.

"Yeah, but it's for a good cause," Paul answers, rubbing a scouring brush along his nail cuticles.

"You know, that stuff never really comes off. It gets down into your pores until your body finally absorbs it."

"Great, thanks for the image, Gwen," he says with a sigh and turns the tap off with his elbow. He grabs a clean towel from the nearby towel rack and rubs his hands in it. He turns to the woman who stands next to him. She's dressed in a similar outfit; hairnet over braided brown hair and a white, much cleaner apron over an orange "volunteer" shirt and tan cargo pants. Her tennis shoes were probably white once, but now they're a dirty shade of gray and the rubber heel is coming off the left one. Despite the clothing her face is soft and smiling, set with hazel eyes and a port-wine stain on her lower left jaw that runs down her neck and disappears under the collar of her t-shirt. It's a face that Paul is intimately familiar with and yet it's a face so unfamiliar that it catches him off guard every time he looks at her.

Gwendolyn McCray is, in many ways, not like the other five women he's met that share the same DNA sequence. But then again, none of the others are very alike either. It would be fascinating, he supposes, if he weren't so sick of being caught in the Neolutionists web of lies and subterfuge.

"You going to the rally tonight after your shift?" She asks. She's whisking a bowl of flour and eggs in her hands and she rocks from foot to foot with the motion.

"Tell me again what this one's for," Paul replies as he hangs the hand towel back up.

She narrows her eyes at him, like she's offended that he doesn't have the itinerary of ever social cause in the city memorized yet. "You know, it's to protest the police crackdown of the homeless in Jackson Park."

"Right, of course. Are you going?"

"Yeah, yeah. I'm meeting up with a couple of friends. You can tag along…if you want," she offers, glancing up at him from her mixing bowl and then away.

"Sure. I'd like that."

"Great. Great. Well, okay, I should go finish making the cookies. The second group should be coming through soon."

"Yeah, I have to get back on the serving line."

"Me, too. I'll see you after I get these in the oven." She's dragging her feet backwards away from him, but slowly as if she's not eager to end the conversation.

"You bet," he says, turning to leave.

"Yep. Okay. In a bit then," she calls after him.

But he's already out the swinging double doors of the kitchen and into the cafeteria serving area where a line of volunteers is offering up food to a thinning out line of mostly homeless men and a few women. As he steps into place next to a large vat of scrambled eggs, one of the women on either side of him leans over and says, "Second lines coming through, soon."

"Yep," Paul agrees and there is definitely another line of people starting through the cafeteria doors. "Our works never done," he adds, as he plops a serving of eggs onto the plate that one of the men in line is handing him.

"_Your work with us isn't over, Paul," Aldous Leekie had said over the phone when he'd finally gotten in touch with the former soldier a few days back. "We need to know that you're still with us."_

"_Of course," Paul answered quickly. He was on the subway, heading back to the condo after dumping Beth's car out near the loading docks where he hoped it would be an easy target for carjackers. He planned to grab the rest of his clothes at home, then hit a hotel for a few days until Leekie called. The scientist was ahead of schedule, but that was okay, Paul would rather stay busy than sit and stew over where Sarah and Felix were headed._

"_Rachel tells me that you helped Sarah get away."_

_Paul shrugged at the voice on the phone. "I thought it was my job to let the subject choose her own path."_

"_Ah, yes, well. Touché. But you also knew that bringing Sarah in was of utmost importance to us." _

_Paul leaned the phone away from his face and picked at his teeth with his fingernail. He counted to ten, slowly, then got back on the phone._

"_Hello? You still there?" Leekie was asking. _

"_Yeah, I'm here."_

"_I need to know that you are still with us, Paul," Leekie said again. _

"_I know that you're not going to relinquish that evidence until I serve my purpose," Paul said, "So, yeah, I'm still with you."_

"_Not the most enthusiastic response I was hoping for."_

"_Yeah, well, you wouldn't believe me if I got all excited now."_

"_True. Okay, here's the thing: we have another monitor situation for you. Think you can handle another subject?"_

"_I seem to be pretty good at it."_

"_Hmm…well, this one likes to move around a lot, so it's been hard to keep a consistent watcher on her. I'm sending you down to New Orleans where you're to make contact with her and perform your usual duties."_

"_I love 'The Big Easy'."_

"_Good. We're sending you out tonight. Don't bother going back to your condo, we already have a team there scrubbing it down – I'm not even going to ask what happened. Anyway, they'll pack up everything there. I want you to go straight to the airport and go to the farthest west ticket counter in Terminal One. I'll have tickets and a packet of information waiting for you which will include some money and a new credit card. You can buy new clothes when you get to New Orleans."_

_Just like that Paul had found himself in a new city with a new clone to watch. The package Leekie left for him at the airport contained a new back story, one that he could play well: he was a vet of the war in Afghanistan who had returned home two years ago to find he had no job, no home, and no real prospects. He was to get a bed at the local YMCA and report to the job training center downtown where he would make contact with the subject Gwendolyn McCray, who worked there as a job counselor. As with Beth, his instructions were not to interfere with her life choices, just report back on her activities. _

_However, when Paul arrived in New Orleans there had been no available beds at the Y or at any of the local homeless shelters. Paul had debated using the money Leekie provided to stay at a hotel, but he decided it would be more authentic if he spent the night on the street: he'd ended up getting kicked out of both the park and the bus terminal where he'd tried to sleep before he ended up huddled in the back doorway of the work center for the rest of the night. It had proved fortunate, however, as he was discovered the next morning by Gwen when she showed up to the office early. She'd been trying to help him find a job ever since; she'd even helped him locate a small temporary housing unit which he shared with five other former soldiers who were also without jobs and permanent housing. In the meantime, she suggested that he volunteer at the soup kitchen as a way of giving him some life purpose. This assignment was certainly far different from his last one where he had earned a six-figure income and had a new car and a new condo. But he thought it suited him better somehow or maybe he was just feeling penitent after what he'd put Beth through. _

"What are you thinking about?"

"Huh, oh," he says as he realizes that Gwen is standing next to him at the counter, having taken over for the woman who had been working on his right side.

"You just seemed far away there," she says and she genuinely sounds concerned.

"Oh, just thinking about how life was before," he says, as he continues to dole out eggs to the people milling past. The crowd is thickening and Gwen turns her attention to the line, she greets everyone quietly by name as they pass by, adding a scoop of hash browns to each plate. Several people pause to chat with her a bit and some even elicit a shy, but warm laugh out of her.

After about twenty minutes, the line thins out again and Gwen takes a step back from the serving counter. "So," she says, wiping her brow with a brown paper towel, "what was life like for you before?"

Paul has to stop and think for a moment before remembering that he had told her he had been thinking about the past earlier. He shrugs, "Different, I guess. Good paying job, nice place, beautiful and loving girlfriend – of course, that was all before my Guard unit got called up for the war. When I got back, it was all gone – the job to someone else, the place due to foreclosure, and my girlfriend…well…"

"Did she find someone else?" Gwen asks quietly.

"No…but she wanted to find someone else," he says. Gwen's eyebrow goes up. "Well, I wasn't the same person anymore, you know, so…"

"No one ever stays the same," she replies as she starts wiping down the serving counter with a towel soaked in bleach water.

"No, I guess not." He grabs another towel, dunks it in the cleaning bucket, and starts helping her wipe the counter. He watches her for a moment out of the corner of his eyes as she furiously attacks a stubborn stain. "You know, you remind me of her a little."

"Oh?" She asks, pausing in her cleaning to look up at him. A wisp of hair has come loose of her hairnet and she blows it out of her face. "How so?"

"You get the same intensity in your eyes sometimes. And you're both small but…I don't know…fierce."

"Fierce – me?" She laughs and goes back to scrubbing the countertop. "I see a spider and I run the other way."

Paul laughs with her. "Well, I actually meant you're fierce when it comes to protecting other people. I see how hard you work on behalf of the people here and at the work center – you fight for them."

"Well," she says, smiling, "That's the easy part. The hard part is when I fail to help them." Her eyes look slightly teary, but she's still smiling.

"Hey, Gwen!" Calls one of the women who had been through the line earlier, as she heads out of the cafeteria.

"Bye, Lena. Be careful out there," Gwen calls after her.

"How do you do that?" Paul asks, genuinely curious.

"Do what?"

"Remember everyone's name like that? I don't even remember all the names of the guys I live with right now…"

Gwen grins lopsidedly. She looks around, then leans in closer to him and whispers, "It's something my mom taught my sister and I when we were little. Did you notice how Lena has a slight limp on her left side?" Paul shakes his head. "Well, it's pretty subtle but I noticed it when I met her, so she became Lena with a Left Limp. And the guy over there sitting at the end of the table eating his dessert – he's Aaron with the Adams Apple." The man did have a pronounced Adams apple, made even more noticeable whenever he swallowed. "Of course, I would never actually call them Lena with a Left Limp and Aaron with the Adams Apple; it just helps me remember them more easily."

"Huh, I'll have to try it." He thinks for a moment, apprising her before saying, "Gwendolyn with the Goofy Grin."

"Goofy?!" She snaps her towel at him. "Fine. But only if it helps you remember who I am." She smiles and the rest of her face and neck turns almost the same shade of pink as her large birthmark.

"Oh, I won't be forgetting you anytime soon," Paul says as he turns away to dunk his towel in the bucket again. But he's already thinking about another brown haired, hazel eyed, small but fierce woman he knows. _Sarah with the Sexy Saunter_. Except he knows she would kill him if he ever actually called her that.

* * *

"Who are you? What do you want?" Asks the stone faced woman holding the gun.

"Look, we don't want any trouble, alright?" Sarah says, slowly shifting so she's standing more in front of Felix. She can hear her foster brother's breathe behind her as he sucks in air fast and furiously.

"Yeah, well, you damned well found it, didn't ya?" The woman barks and she waves her gun around to prove her point. There is a second voice now, a second voice on the other side of the door saying something that Sarah can't quite hear. Then the door opens a little wider and a second woman appears. Her face is older now and she definitely seems shorter than Sarah remembers, but she still looks like Miss Pritchard.

"Miss Prichard, thank god. It's me, Sarah Manning and my brother Felix Dawkins. You used to be friends with our foster mom, Siobhan Sadler. Do you remember?" Sarah asks, but she can tell by the softening around the other woman's eyes that Miss Prichard remembers them.

"Sarah and Felix," she says, looking back and forth between the two, "Of course, how could I forget? Tab," – she touches the other woman's arm lightly, "Tab put the gun down and let them in."

"But—"

"Let them in, please."

The other woman grumbles but she lowers the gun and steps back a little so Sarah and Felix can get by her. When the two foster siblings linger in the doorway, Miss Prichard beckons them forward, "Come on in, it's fine. Tabby let the guys know it's okay." She motions toward the door and the other woman steps out on the front stoop briefly, presumably to wave off the two men outside by the car. She comes back in and follows Sarah and Felix into the small living room that Miss Prichard is leading them into. The room is stuffed full of antique furniture and hardbound books. On the walls are black and white photographs mainly from the late 1800s and early 1900s, but there are a few modern photos mixed in and Sarah guesses they are actually of people Miss Prichard knows. Miss Prichard herself is dressed in a moss-colored Irish wool sweater over a knee length brown skirt and riding boots. Her long red hair is draped over her shoulder in one loose braid. The other woman, who is now firmly planted behind Sarah and Felix, is taller with short cropped black hair and skin like leather. She's also dressed in a wool sweater but she has jeans and thick soled black boots on. Her steely blue eyes are watching every move that Sarah and Felix make.

"Sarah, Felix, this is Tabatha Martin," Miss Prichard says, pointing toward the other woman. "Tab, these are Siobhan's kids – I know I've told you about them. They used to live just a couple doors down from me over on Chale. I used to visit them all the time. The two of you sure grew up into beautiful adults."

Felix beams at her and bows his head slightly. But Sarah seems unimpressed and stands with her hands on her hips, looking around the room.

"Here," Miss Prichard says, motioning towards the dining room which is just beyond the living room through a large arched doorway. "Why don't we all sit at the table. I'll get us some tea and sweets."

"That would be fantastic," Felix says, rubbing his hands together. Clearly he has calmed down quite a bit from his earlier anxiety attack outside the door. Sarah merely shrugs her shoulders and makes for the table where she sits down casually. Felix plops down beside her and Tabatha takes a seat on the other side of the rectangular oak table, her eyes flicking back and forth between the two. Miss Prichard disappears into the kitchen beyond the dining room and emerges only a few moments later bearing a tray of steaming hot tea, four cups, and a tray full of an assortment of pastries, including a few Brandy Snaps. Felix looks over at Sarah and waggles his eyebrows.

"So what brings you two to my doorstep today," Anwen Prichard asks as she pours steaming tea into the four delicate China cups.

"Who are the men out there?" Sarah counters, jerking her head back towards the front of the row house. Miss Prichard pauses as she passes out the teacups, then she answers, "They're friends of ours. You and Felix created quite a stir the last few days; running all over South London asking questions."

"So you already knew we were here," Sarah says, leaning forward in her chair.

Miss Prichard waves a hand. "I didn't know it was you. But, yes, I knew there was a couple asking a lot of questions and showing pictures of Siobhan and a lot of other people whose faces are better left hidden." She takes a sip of her tea. "Brixton may seem like a big area, but it's actually quite small for anyone with the right connections. We've had people watching you almost since the moment you arrived."

"I knew I'd seen those blokes before!" Felix exclaims, crunching into a Brandy Snap. "Yeah," concurs Sarah.

"Why exactly are you two here and what does it have to do with Siobhan?" Miss Prichard asks.

"You know," Felix says, taking another bite of his Brandy Snap, "these are even better than I remember."

"Just answer her question!" Tabitha hisses.

"Heel, Cujo," Felix retorts. The woman starts to her feet but Anwen puts a hand on her arm and the short-haired woman sits back down.

"Actually, we were hoping you would know where Siobhan is," Sarah says. The two women across the table glance at each other then back at Sarah. "Look, I have no idea if I can trust either one of you, but I'm out of leads and I'm desperate. I think Mrs. S kidnapped my daughter and took her into hiding someplace. I'm just trying to find her, make sure she's safe."

"Why would Siobhan take your child away from you?" Miss Prichard asks and her eyes narrow at Sarah.

Sarah sighs and sits back in her chair. "You remember when Siobhan first took me in?" Miss Prichard answers, "Of course."

"Well," Sarah continues, "apparently a man by the name of Carlton brought me to her." Sarah pauses to read Miss Prichard's reaction, but the woman's face seems impenetrable. She continues, "Mrs. S said Carlton helped me escape from a group of people who were conducting illegal experiments on me. And a couple years after Mrs. S adopted Fee and I, Carlton supposedly told Mrs. S to take me deep into hiding, that the scientists who had – hurt me – were back on my trail. So she fled."

"That's why she left without a word. Took you and Felix away."

"Yes. Recently the people that were after me found me again. They seemed very interested in my daughter."

"Ah," Miss Prichard says and she puts the palms of her hands down on the table. "So you think that Siobhan took your daughter and ran?"

"Yes, maybe, I'm not sure. I just need to know that my daughter's okay," Sarah says and an exhausted kind of desperation forms her words.

"I certainly understand that. But don't you think that Kira may be safer now—"

Sarah is on her feet in a flash, all fatigue gone. "I never said my daughter's name was Kira."

"No? I'm sure you did or else you mentioned to one of the many people you questioned; word got back to me—"

"No, you know something! You tell me right now – what the bloody hell is going on here?!" Spittle flies out of Sarah's mouth and she pounds the top of the table with her fists. Both Anwen and Tabitha rise out of their seats, too. Tabitha's gun is back in her hand and she's pointing it at Sarah. Felix remains seated, still gnawing unconsciously on the Brandy Snap as his wide eyes bounce back and forth between the three women.

"Perhaps it's better if I take over now, Anwen," says a voice from the doorway. All four people turn and look towards the kitchen door as a man of darker complexion strides in, wearing a camouflage long-sleeve shirt, jeans, and heavy army boots.

"You're Carlton," Sarah says just as Felix says, "Holy shite, were you hiding out in the kitchen this whole time or did you just teleport here?"

The man's eyes flicker to Felix and then he turns back to Sarah, "Yeah, I'm Carlton. Now sit down before Tabitha gets trigger happy and I'll tell you what I know about Siobhan and your daughter."

Sarah sits down.

* * *

Alison stands up.

She's been sitting at a high round table laden with frosted soda glasses and half-uneaten pizza watching the kids watch their father play Galaga for the past half hour. Gemma and Oscar are cheering with glee, jumping up and down and letting out great shouts of excitement whenever Donnie shoots down another alien invader. Donnie himself is weaving back and forth, right fingers clicking on the fire buttons while his left hand rolls the joystick in quick, fluid movements. Even thought the arcade has never been Alison's favorite place, what with the constant din of music, beeps and bops, kids shouting, kids crying, kids laughing, adults yelling at their kids, and adults yelling at the video consoles – it's always a cocktail for a massive headache – today she doesn't mind it. It's been a long time since she's seen Donnie and the kids this animated about anything.

Alison slings her purse over her shoulder and crosses over to her family. She stands for a moment, watching Donnie defend the galaxy. As the game screen changes between levels, she lunges in and gives her husband a quick peck on the cheek saying, "That's my man."

"You're darn right!" He says, laughing and then he's a whirl of motion again as the new legion of alien ships swoops down.

Alison ruffles Oscar's hair, then bends down by Gemma's ear. "Gemma, Mommy's going to the restroom. Do you need to go?"

"Nope," she answers, her big eyes never leaving the screen.

"Okay. Donnie, watch the kids, I'll be right back."

"Yep, got it, hon," he says as he dips and weaves.

Alison walks away towards the restrooms, a beaming smile spreading across her face. It's been a long time since life has felt this normal and right. Behind her she hears the kids and Donnie let out a loud, excited whoop.

* * *

Cosima jolts awake again, this time to the clackity-clack of the ancient elevator as it ascends the inner shaft of the building. The second thing she becomes aware of is the warm weight of Delphine's upper body lying across her thighs. The blonde's head is on the settee arm and her back is turned against Cosima's chest, one arm pressed between her side and Cosima's thighs and the other is draped down Cosima's right leg. The rest of Delphine's body is half-on, half-off the couch. Cosima's neck aches; she's apparently been sleeping with her head bent to the side. The brunette adjusts her glasses which sit askew on her nose and looks towards the bay windows of the living room. Sunlight is streaming past the edges of the heavy curtains – the only room that has window coverings yet. Cosima guesses it must be about mid-day by the color and intensity of the light coming in. Apparently the two women had slept for a good long while.

Cosima feels he crick in her neck twinge. Yep, that's definitely going to hurt all day. She looks back down at the woman draped awkwardly across her lap. How the immunologist can sleep in such an odd posture Cosima can't imagine, but she can imagine that Delphine's back is going to be sore all day, too. Cosima slowly starts to rub the blonde's lower back in small circles. Delphine murmurs contentedly in her sleep, the fingers of her right hand clasping and unclasping around Cosima's leg, as if she's a kneading kitten. Cosima grins and runs her fingers up Delphine's back. The blonde is practically purring now.

The metal grate of the elevator rumbles open in the hallway outside Cosima's apartment. The noise rouses Delphine and she rolls over on her back or as far as her precarious position on the settee allows. Her eyes flutter open and she looks up at Cosima.

"Morning," Cosima says, winking.

"Morning," Delphine says, then, "Merde! What time is it?" She sits up. Her hair had come loose from its hair band sometime during the night and now it billows out around her face.

"I don't actually know," Cosima answers as she stretches her arms. She yawns. "Mid-morning maybe? It's okay, though, it's Saturday. No work."

"No work? Did you miraculously recover during the night?" Delphine demands.

"Er, no—"

"Then, it's a work day. At least it is for me." Delphine disentangles herself from the settee and gets to her feet.

"Oh, but I thought you could stay and…I don't know...maybe just…spend the day. Together." Cosima realizes that she's prattling and her hands are dancing all over the place trying to make the right words flow. She also realizes that a warm flush is traveling down the length of her body.

Delphine's breath catches in her throat. It takes her a moment to finally say, "I would like that, Cosima. Very much. But…what if…"

"What if the Neolutionists are watching?" Cosima shrugs. "I know, but I'm just so tired of having to always pretend to not like you. To not want to touch you, when every day that's what I want to do more than anything else."

"But…I thought…no, I mean, yes, me, too," Delphine stammers, "I just thought you weren't…ready to be –together – like that, again. I know I still have a lot to prove to you…"

Cosima stands up and takes Delphine's hands in hers. "You don't have anything to prove, Delphine. I trust you. I do. Completely."

They stand staring at each other for several moments, hardly breathing, waiting, perhaps, for the other to make the first move. Then Cosima leans forward and brushes her lips lightly against Delphine's. The blonde woman's eye flutter closed and she makes a soft moaning sound at the back of her throat. Then suddenly her lips are crushed against Cosima's and there is nothing left between them except an aching, wanting need which their lips, tongues, hands, and fingers try to satisfy all at once. Delphine's hands are underneath the back of Cosima's shirt, pulling the shorter woman closer as Cosima's left fingers curl into the blonde's tresses and her right fingers seek out the flesh above Delphine's hip.

The floor creaks outside the apartment door. Both women pull away and freeze, their faces now a few inches apart but their bodies still entwined. They look at each other then their eyes slide towards the door. Cosima and Delphine hold their breaths for several beats, but there is only silence. Cosima laughs suddenly, breaking the tension, and says, "Kick-ass American architecture."

Delphine grins and bites her bottom lip, but the other corner of her mouth falls into a small frown. She's torn between tasting Cosima's lips again and getting back to the piles of paperwork waiting for her in the lab. The circles that are still visible under Cosima's eyes, even after a night of fairly peaceful slumber, and the paleness of her skin, decide it for the immunologist. "I…I should really go to the lab."

"But –"

"Please. Later – I promise you." She cups Cosima's face and kisses her long and deep before pulling away again. "First we save you, yes?"

"You were saving me," Cosima murmurs under her breath, but she nods then chuckles. "Okay. Crazy science in the lab then." Delphine arcs an eyebrow at her. "I mean with actual chemicals and, uh, other sciency stuff."

Delphine laughs. "Yes. Sciency stuff. Bien. Alright then." She gives Cosima another quick peck on the mouth. "Mmm. Okay, I'm going to go take a quick shower and then I'll meet you downstairs? We can catch a taxi together, oui?"

Cosima scrunches up her nose. "Okay. Yeah, I guess I better go shower too and put on something a little more professional."

"Oh, but I like the boxers," Delphine says, tugging at Cosima's elastic waistband playfully.

"Oh, really? Hmm. Okay. I'll throw a pair on under my skirt today."

"Oh, I like that. Yes." Delphine winks then turns to go but Cosima catches her around the waist, spins her and kisses her one last time. The heat of it almost breaks Delphine's resolve to go in to work. She pushes Cosima away playfully as they part and points off down the hallway, "Go, you brat! I'll see you downstairs."

"Fine," Cosima pouts then laughs and Delphine laughs, too, turning back to the door. Delphine releases the lock and starts through the door, still laughing. She's brought up short by the person standing just on the other side of it.

"Ah, there you are, Delphine," Dr. Leekie says, his big teeth grinning.

* * *

"My eyeballs dried up and fell out of my head. Watch your step," Angie says.

Art actually pauses and looks down at the floor as he enters through the video lab's doorway, his arms laden with cans of soda, potato chips, and chocolate bars from the station's vending machine. The overhead light is off but the room glows a sickly blue from the row of computer monitors that line the viewing station in front of Angie. Each monitor is paused on different surveillance camera footage collected from various locations near the factory where they'd found the dead woman a few days ago.

"Oh, thank God, gimme, gimme." Angie leans back in her chair and holds her arms out towards the food in Art's hands.

"Okay, alright. You're welcome. Here," Art says, unloading most of the food and drink into Angie's arms. She puts her stash down on the desk in front of her and rips open one of the Snickers bars.

"So nothing yet, huh?" Art asks as he sits back down into the swivel chair next to her. They've been watching the footage all day; mostly there is nothing on the tapes except eight hours of empty lamp lit parking lots and back alleyways. Occasionally a vehicle rumbles by or a pedestrian walks past and they play each scene through slowly, looking for anything suspicious.

"Not really. But look" – she taps at one of the screens – "one of the street lights is clearly out. Someone at the city isn't doing his job properly. I say we get an arrest warrant."

"Yeah, I don't think the chief will let us make any warrant requests for a good long while," Art says. Not after the fiasco at Beth's place, anyway._ He and Angie had swung by the condo several days ago right after they spoke with the Hendrix woman. A moving truck was parked out front and several men dressed in khakis and matching brown coats were quickly and efficiently loading it full of boxes and furniture from Beth and Paul's unit. "Whoa, whoa, whoa," Art had said, running over to the truck. "What's going on here?" The men had merely ignored him and continued loading the truck. This had really ticked Art off and he'd stepped in the way of one of the guys who was carrying out a black leather ottoman. He flashed his badge saying, "You're impeding a police investigation – if you don't stop, I'll arrest you."_

"_I assume you have a warrant for that?" Said the thin, well-dressed man who came walking out the condo door and into the snowy front yard. It was the lawyer, the one that had swooped in and made off with Sarah Manning just before she could tell Art what was really going on._

"_Mr. –"_

"_Rosen," the man offered as he walked up to Art and the mover. The lawyer put a hand on the moving man's arm and nodded to the truck, "Go on, do your job; I'll take care of this."_

"_These men are interfering with an active crime scene," Art said and the lawyer shook his head, saying, "What active crime scene? You haven't pulled a search warrant for this place. You have no business even being here right now –"_

"_Beth was my partner and I'm investing her death, as you well know."_

"_Art!" Angie called. She had walked over to the condo's doorway and was standing on the top stair, looking in as the moving men swarmed in and out. "Art, they even have a cleaning crew inside, scouring down everything."_

"_What?" Art brushed past the lawyer and hurried up the steps to the door. Sure enough, as he approached the front door he could clearly see a team of cleaners inside scrubbing every inch of the floor and walls. One of them was even on a ladder, cleaning the ceiling. "What's going on here? Where's Paul? And where the hell is Sarah Manning?" Art asked, stalking back down the steps and over to the lawyer._

"_My clients have every right to move –"_

"_Your __clients__? Don't tell me you're representing Paul Dierden now, too? And Sarah Manning still has charges pending against her – she is specifically forbidden from leaving the city."_

"_I wasn't aware that Mr. Dierden had been charged with anything. As for Ms. Manning – I filed a change of address for her yesterday. I'm surprised you weren't made aware of it, but that's not my problem. My problem is that you are illegally trespassing on my other client's property. I sincerely suggest that you and your new partner leave before I call your Lieutenant."_

"_I know you and whoever you're working for are covering up something big," Art said, stabbing a finger at the lawyer, "You better believe I'll get to the bottom of it and I'll take all of you down with it. Angie – come on, we're going back to the station."_

_At the station, Art had gone straight to Hardcastle's office. He found his boss already waiting for him with a warning, "Art, I want you and Angie to back off this Sarah Manning thing right now."_

"_Lieutenant, you know—" _

"_I'm serious. I have a team of lawyers breathing down my neck talking about bring you and Deangelis up on harassment charges. All of the proper paperwork for Manning has been filed and until she fails to show up at her appointed court hearing, you and Angie had better stay as far away from her as you possibly can. You hear me?"_

_Art had heard. He'd also smashed two coffee mugs and a ceramic pencil holder to smithereens when he got back to desk. He later felt bad about breaking the one coffee cup – it had been Beth's and it was the last tangible thing he'd had of hers._

"Alright, let's get back to it," Art says and he starts up the video footage again, glancing from screen to screen.

Next to him Angie cracks open a Mt. Dew and downs most of it in one gulp. She burps and Art looks over at her. "Yep," she says, "I just did that."

"You think Hardcastle would consider my request for a new partner?"

"Ha. As if you could find someone better to watch your lame-ass."

Several minutes go by. Maybe even an hour. Time has no meaning in this room with only the blue glow of the monitors and the hum of the computer fans.

"Wait! Go back!" Art exclaims sitting up in his chair.

"On what?"

"On that one," he says as he points at one of the monitors, "ah, camera 31. Go back, I thought I saw someone walk by."

"Oh good, another walker," Angie complains, but her fingers are already clicking on the keyboard, rewinding the video. As the footage plays backwards they see a figure stride reverse across the frame.

"There he is. Okay, now play it back slowly."

"I know, I know," Angie says, hitting a couple more keys. The figure walks forward this time. The footage is fairly grainy, but fortunately the person walks right under a streetlight and comes into view for just a moment.

"Okay, pause."

"I'm already on it." And the figure has indeed stopped. Both detectives lean forward in their seats, peering more closely at the image. Art says, "Can you tell? It looks like maybe a woman. See," – his fingers trace the outline – "wearing a winter coat with a fringed hood."

Angie replies, "Yeah, maybe, just a second I think I can enlarge it." The keyboard clicks and clacks and then the image zooms in on the face. The two stare open mouthed for a long beat then both lean back, a collective hiss of breath escaping them, "Fffffffffuck."

In the blue light of the monitors Angie turns to Art and says, "It's Beth – with a bad perm and hair job. Only, of course, it's not Beth."

"Yeah," he says, still staring at the screen.

"It isn't Sarah."

"Nope."

"And it's not that Hendrix woman."

"Nope."

"With the German that makes what? Five, now?" Angie asks.

"Yep."

"So, we agree that this is officially fucked up, right?"

"Yep."

"Oh, good. For a moment I thought I was the only one going insane."

"No. No, I'm pretty sure it's the whole god-damned world that's going insane."

* * *

Alison shuts the door behind her with her elbow as she exits the bathroom stall and moves over to the line of sinks. The restroom is filthy with waded up paper towels all over the bathroom counter, loose sheets of toilet paper trailed across the floor and sticky spots on the floor from what Alison sincerely hopes are soda spills. Normally she would have gone straight to a manager and demanded that something be done, but right now she is uncharacteristically unperturbed by it. She hums the main refrain from the Galaga game over and over, as she washes her hand under the automatic tap.

Still humming she walks over to the hand dryer. The machine clicks on automatically, motor sounding like a small jet engine in the relatively quite bathroom. As she hums and dries her hands she catches movement out of the corner of her eye. One of the stall doors is creaking open. Alison watches for a second then turns away rubbing her hands together a few more times under the blower.

Stepping back to the mirror, she checks her reflection. The hand dryer winds down and finally dies with a whimper. Alison smooths down her bangs and swiftly brushes the wrinkles out of her blouse. She straightens her necklace and is just pulling a tube of lip gloss out of her purse when the bathroom stall behind her creaks the rest of the way open. Glancing up in the mirror Alison spots the figure of a woman standing in the stall doorway, dressed in black pants and a heavy green jacket. The fur-lined hood of the jacket is up and blonde curls spill out from it.

"Baaaaaa," bleats the woman in a thick accent.

"What?" Alison stammers her fingers stilled inside her purse.

"You sheep, too," the woman says and she jerks the hood of her jacket back, revealing her face.

Alison gulps down the panic in her throat; she blinks slowly hoping maybe she's just having a nervous breakdown. _Please, let it be a nervous breakdown._ But when she opens her eyes again, she still sees the other woman's pale, pale face next to hers in the mirror.

"Helena…" Alison breathes the name and the other woman tilts her head, a slow red smile blossoming across her face.

Helena traces the blade of the knife she holds in her left hand across the surface of the restroom door, leaving a noticeable scar across the metal. She cocks her head to the other side, saying, "Where's Sarah?"


	6. Chapter 6

**VI.**

_Alison is pretty sure this is what it's like to get trapped in a horror film, except there's no director calling cut, no actor pretending to be psychotic who is actually quite a lovely person in real life and who abhors violence and doesn't even like knives, even fake knives like the one she's supposed to be 'stabbing' the other actors with but which Alison knows is actually a real knife because fake knives don't leave scratches in metal doors and don't glint so ominously under fluorescent bathroom lights which are definitely not spot lights because this isn't a movie set and the person in front of her really isn't an actor but is actually a 'bat shit crazy' person, to use Sarah's term, and didn't Sarah tell them she'd killed Helena? _ _And, oh, my God, I'm going to die, thinks Alison. Wait – no, this is what Cosima would do – she'd spiral into an endless run-on narrative that makes no sense to anyone, not least of all because she'd be using scientific words that no one else understands – except maybe Delphine - so it's all the more confusing and I'm not Cosima, and I'm not Sarah – she'd hug Helena, then shoot her – I wish I had my gun. No, no I'm Alison; I'm the one who took my husband down with a well-aimed golf-club; I'm the one who taught Sarah how to shoot – goddamn Donnie for hiding my gun – and I'm the one who had the power to save Aynsley's life but decided that my life and my kids' lives were worth more than hers – so –yes, I can do this. I'm Alison. I'm a shark and I __can__ do this!_

Alison's hand digs deep into her purse as she slowly turns around to face Helena. Her fingers brush against the smooth plastic side of her stun gun and she almost smiles, thinking, _"Bitch, I'm not a sheep, I'm a shark!"_

Helena furrows her brow and cocks her head to the other side. "Shark," she says like she's tasting the word and Alison realizes that she'd said that last thought out loud. Helena says, "Shark" again, then her eyes seem to light up. "Ah…"she cries then gnashes her teeth with a chomp, chomp. Helena takes a couple of steps towards Alison. She stumbles slightly against the open stall door. The bleached blonde catches herself and straightens up.

"I like you – you're funny," Helena says and she pushes the point of the knife into the tip of her own right index finger, drawing a bead of blood. She puts her finger in her mouth, sucks on it while she contemplates Alison. Alison contemplates her right back, as the brunette tightens her grip on the stun gun hidden in her purse. The woman before her with the over-the-counter perm and bleached hair is so pale Alison can almost see the veins under her skin, and there is definitely a tinge of blue around her lips and purple bruising under her eyes. A thin sheen of perspiration coats Helena's forehead and the light in her eyes is feverish.

"I thought Sarah killed you," Alison can't keep herself from saying. She's feeling much calmer now, almost at peace, but really she's just waiting for the right moment to strike. A shark is drawn to blood and Helena's just drawn it. _But circle, circle, circle a little bit longer and wait – you're a hammerhead up against a Great White, better make sure it doesn't see you coming._

"Sarah shoot me," Helena replies with a thick accent and points at her chest with her finger. "Right here. Bang! Lots of blood." She wags her still bleeding finger at Alison then shrugs again. "But I got back up. So…you tell me now – where's Sarah?"

"I don't know where Sarah is."

"Sarah hid you from me – I think. But Tomas, he found you and follow and I follow him to you. See? But now I think you hide Sarah from me? Yes?"

Alison merely looks at the other woman, trying to judge just how weak Helena might be after getting shot in the torso. She's imagining lots of blood, pools of it. _Circle, circle._

Alison's silence seems to anger Helena because she suddenly shouts, "But, Sarah is my sestra!" She points emphatically at her chest and takes a few jerky steps closer. "Not yours! So you tell me—"

The bathroom door opens and two giggling teenage girls walk in, clearly laughing about something on the cell phone screen that one of them holds in her hands. It takes the girls a moment or two to realize that their way into the restroom is blocked by two people. When they finally look up from the screen, their jaws go slack and their eyes widen in horror, taking in the sight of the blonde woman brandishing a large sharp knife.

Helena wrenches her body around towards them. She points the knife at them and makes thrusting motions, demanding in a slow but menacing accent, "Get out. Get out now." The teenagers scream and practically fall over each other as they first collide together than scramble backwards out the door.

"Now," Helena begins, turning back, "I want—" Her words are lost in a blaze of blue electricity that arcs through her frail frame. Her body arches then collapses underneath her as every muscle loses control. She's flopping on the ground now and the small brunette is standing over her, lunging in and out with an electric charge in her fist.

Alison jabs the stun gun into Helena over and over. She doesn't even know how many times she stuns the other woman, she just wants to make sure that Helena can't get back up.

The bathroom door bangs open again, but this time a young male security guard charges in yelling, "Put it down, Ma'am! Put the stun gun down! I don't want to hurt you!"

"What?" Alison says, the frenzy she's worked herself up into dispelling at the sudden appearance of the uniformed man. He's staring at her wild-eyed while his hand fumbles to get the black baton out of his belt's holster. "I'm not – what? She attacked me! She's crazy!" Alison points the stun gun in the direction of Helena who is crumpled on the floor, not moving. "Look she has a knife!" Alison cries. Only the knife isn't in Helena's hand anymore. It must have gotten thrown from her hand when the electricity bucked through her. Alison spins in circles, spots the knife then scoops it up, holding it out triumphantly. "See – it's a knife!"

"Ma'am, put the knife down! Right now!" He expands the baton and bangs it hard against the metal paper towel holder hanging on the wall. "Just put down the weapons!"

"She's trying to kill me! She's already killed several of us and now she's after me! She's insane!" Alison says shaking the knife and stun gun. Suddenly she sees herself as if from the guard's perspective and her mouth pops open in an 'o'. In fact, she says, "Oh. Oh, no, no, no. See, I'm not crazy. I – here," - she slowly turns and places the weapons down on the bathroom counter - "see I'm fine. I'm good. We're all good here."

"Just back away from the weapons!"

"Okay, okay," Alison says, holding her hands up over her shoulders and she takes a few steps back, away from the counter and from Helena. The security guard watches her for a moment, still pointing his baton at her. Then he kneels slowly down by the collapsed body on the floor and touches his fingers against the victim's throat.

"Just – ah, just – ah, be careful," Alison stammers. Helena's body twitches and both Alison and the guard squeal and scramble backwards in opposite directions.

* * *

"Kill it! Kill it! Kill it!" Gwen yells from her precarious perch on top of the kitchen stool.

"Are you sure?" Paul asks.

"Wait, wait, no - don't kill it. Just – ah – just get it away from me…please!"

"Wow, you really don't like spiders," Paul says, laughing as he scoops up the Daddy Long-legs from the counter-top. He looks at the leggy creature for a moment saying, "Sorry, pal. It's you or her." Then he carries it to the kitchen door where he releases the arachnid out into the wild of the alleyway. "Okay, it's gone," he announces coming back into the main kitchen area.

Gwen sighs and jumps off the bar stool she'd taken refuge on. She offers a sheepish, "Thank you."

"Yeah, not a problem. You should have seen the camel spiders we'd find in Afghanistan sometimes. Great big things," he spreads the fingers of his right hand open, "six, seven, eight inches across. Like those things in Aliens. You know?" He looks up and sees Gwen is climbing back onto the stool, grimacing. He waves his hands, "Alright, alright. I'll stop talking. But they're like this big." He splays his hands out on either side of his head.

"I will kill you," Gwen says.

"I'm stopping now. Promise." He motions her towards him. "Come on, we're going to be late for this rally thing."

"Rally thing?" Gwen asks with a huff.

"This, uh, really, really, really, really important rally thing."

Gwen rolls her eyes, but she climbs back off the stool. "Okay, but don't think I've forgotten about this."

"Hey, I saved you didn't I?"

"Yes, you are a fierce warrior. Come on." And now it's Gwen who is making hastening motions towards Paul as she walks past him out the kitchen into the cafeteria. They've both changed out of their volunteer clothes and Paul feels much cleaner for it, in his black sleeved jersey and jeans. Gwen is in a light-weight blue sweatshirt with the saying "this is what a feminist looks like" written across the front. She's still in her cargo pants but she's put on a pair of blue canvas shoes – with no shoelaces – instead of her old graying tennis shoes. Her hair is tied back with a red paisley handkerchief and she's put back on the shell necklace and beaded hemp bracelets she usually wears.

The cafeteria is mostly empty now, except for a couple of female volunteers who are still wiping down the vacant tables.

"Hey, Gwen!" They call to her.

"Hey! Bye, Trish! Bye, Stace! See you next weekend!" Gwen calls back and waves.

"You have quite the entourage today," one of them says, winking at Paul as he follows after Gwendolyn. Gwen instantly blushes, but keeps moving and is through the door with Paul right on her heels. They can hear the women's whooping laughter as the door swings shut behind them. Gwen looks back and waits for Paul to fall into line next to her.

"They're just jealous," Gwen attempts to joke but her face is still pink. "Everyone should have their own personal body guard."

Paul feels weirdly awkward. They walk along in silence for awhile, Gwen setting such a quick pace she's a few steps in front of Paul; whether it's to get to the rally faster or so that Paul can't see her face, he doesn't know.

"So, didn't you just get back from a tour in the Peace Corps?" Paul asks trying to break whatever this tension is that's just descended on them.

"What? Oh, yeah," Gwen says hurrying down the sidewalk. "Twenty-seven months in Java."

"You can't tell me there weren't spiders there," he teases.

"Oh, there were. Lots and lots of them."

"How'd you possibly survive?"

Gwen shrugs, "Oh, you know, lots and lots of Xanax."

"Seriously?"

"No," she laughs and the tension breaks. "Getting a hold of aspirin was hard enough. No, I just had more important things to worry about, you know. Like making sure there was a clean water supply and that the village kids were getting enough food so they wouldn't literally starve to death. It kind of prioritizes things."

"Yeah, I guess it would," he says as he trots beside her. "Hey, you know, the rally will still be there when we arrive."

Gwendolyn immediately slows her pace. "Sorry, I get focused and tend to forget my social graces."

"It's okay," he says, " It's keeping me in shape."

"As if that's a problem," she says, sliding her eyes down his lean body. She looks away quickly and feels the red blush creep from the top of her head to her toes.

Paul can tell her mood is starting to shift again so he changes the subject, "So where are you from, exactly? It seems like you've moved around a lot as an adult. New Orleans, Java, Detroit before that, right?"

"Yeah, Detroit: I worked for an organization that helped build urban farms so that low-income families could have direct access to fresh fruits and vegetables."

"I pretty much stick to the bacon, ham, and steak group, myself."

"I wondered what that sound is: it's your arteries clogging." She laughs as their feet scuff along a brick sidewalk in the French Quarter. They walk for a little while before she says, "But, I'm not really 'from' anywhere. We moved around when I was a kid. My parents were – well, are – both classical musicians and we traveled a lot with the symphony they play in."

"That's kind of cool."

"It was okay. Actually I got kind of sick of never being able to make any permanent friends; though of course I had my sister and I did get to meet a lot of interesting people, so that was good. Anyway, I guess being on the road just sort of got in my system, you know?"

"And helping people? When did that habit start?"

Gwen laughs. "You say it as if it's a bad thing. Honestly, it seemed like a bit of a rebellious thing to do. My parents played in these elegant venues which only the rich could ever really afford to attend. Many of them seemed, I don't know, pretentious, I guess. So my sister and I would sneak out of the concert halls a lot and go explore whatever city we were in that week. We loved watching the street performers play and we saw a lot of the things most people just look away from." She shrugs

"Like the homeless," Paul suggests.

"Yeah, for one. Anyway, I thought who needs money to be happy? Hence the Social Work degree. Oh, hey, here we are," Gwen declares as the buildings along Decatur Street fall away and the street opens up with the overview of the Mississippi on the right and the tree-lined public space of Jackson Square on the left. Artists are plying their artwork along the iron fence outskirts and tourists are strolling through or catching rides on horse drawn carriages. Gwen spots a band of people who are starting to gather in the square itself; some of the people are carrying signs that are illegible at this distance. "Come on," she says and she clasps Paul's hand, "I think I see some of my friends."

They hurry into the park, hand in hand.

* * *

"Come on, Sarah, can't we all just be friends," Felix says, putting a hand on her arm.

Sarah resists her foster brother's attempts to calm her; she's too busy staring down the man who sits at the head of the table, calmly slicing a segment out of a red apple. Carlton pops the portion into his mouth and looks back at Sarah; he chews slowly, deliberately, before swallowing it. Then Carlton starts cutting another piece of apple. Sarah glances from him to Anwen and Tabitha who still sit on the other side of the table. They both glance at her and then away.

"You know what – screw you! Screw all of you!" Sarah exclaims, jumping to her feet. "You people have given me nothing but the run around for the last half hour! I'm done! Come on, Fee!" She spins on her heel and marches towards the dining room doorway.

"You know, you really haven't changed much since you were a kid. The night I came to get you out of the orphanage in Brixton, you fought me the whole way. I still have a scar on my left arm from where you bit me. You remember that?" Carlton's voice calls after her.

Sarah comes to a stop in the doorway and plants her fists on her hips. She looks up at the ceiling then sighs and says, "Yeah, yeah, I remember. You scared the crap outta me, yanking me out of my bed like that. I thought you were the boogeyman. There was that one foster parent I had, who always used to tell me to be good or the boogeyman would come in the middle of the night and carry me back to hell with him. Yeah, good childhood memories, that."

Carlton chuckles, "The boogeyman would have found his match in you – you were such a scraper. I had to get three stitches you bit me so hard. In fact your tooth came out in my arm. Damnedest thing."

Sarah turns around. Her jaw is working and her eyes are glistening. "Please just tell me," she says and she rubs her nose, sniffling, "please just tell me where Kira and Mrs. S are."

"And that was all I was waiting for – just a little bit of courtesy," Carlton says, putting down the apple and the paring knife. "I can't tell you where they are – even I don't know that, but I do know that they are safe and well."

Sarah releases a single sob and folds her arms across her chest. A tear drips off her chin and she sucks in her shaking breath, trying to bring it under control, "How do you know they're fine?"

"Siobhan called Anwen several days ago." He tilts his head at Miss Prichard and Sarah glances at her, "What a day or two before these two arrived in London?"

"Yeah," Anwen confirms. "She said she needed to go to ground, thought I could help. I told her how to contact Carlton – she didn't know he was out of jail, you see, otherwise she probably would have called him directly."

"So she contacted you," Sarah says, now looking at Carlton.

"She did. I met her briefly near her old place in Brixton, gave her some supplies, some cash, new papers for her and the young girl she had with her."

"Kira?"

"Yes."

"You saw her? My little girl? Did she – was she okay? She wasn't scared?"

"No, she was a sweetheart actually. She drew a picture of me while Siobhan and I talked – gave it to me afterwards. Here," – he reaches into his back pocket, fishes out his wallet, and pulls out a folded piece of yellow construction paper which he holds it out to Sarah – "you can take a look, if you want."

Sarah walks back towards the table and takes the piece of paper with trembling fingers. She sits back down in her chair as she unfolds the paper. Inside is a crayon drawing of Carlton, smiling and holding out a teddy bear. "Kira" is written in the bottom right corner. Sarah recognizes the handwriting immediately and it cuts through to her heart. Sarah snuffles again and hands the paper to Felix, who'd been leaning over to look at it.

"I'd brought a teddy bear for her…she's a sweet girl, Sarah. A hell of a lot calmer than you."

"Yeah, I know," Sarah agrees.

"Anyway," Carlton starts in again, "I gave Siobhan the supplies and she left. I don't know where she went after that."

"But she – did she leave you a way to contact her?"

Carlton glances over at Anwen and Tabitha. Anwen catches on almost at once, "Well, time for my hourly dose of fresh air. Tab, why don't you join me out in the backyard." The two women get to their feet and head into the kitchen then out the back door.

Carlton waits for a moment, picking up the apple again and slicing off another piece. "Here, would you like some?"

"No, I'm fine," Sarah says.

"I was actually offering it to your brother," the man says and holds the segment out to Felix.

Felix touches the scarf at his throat, "Oh. Why yes, very kind of you." He actually bats his eyelashes and takes the proffered piece of apple. He takes a small bite and chews it daintily. "Oh my, that's juicy," he says and smiles his most charming of smiles.

"Okay, can you please contain yourself for just one moment?" Sarah half growls, half teases.

"What?" Felix asks, defensively. "It's a good apple." He says this to Carlton, who smiles back.

Sarah exhales and tilts back in her chair, dragging her hands down her face. "Please," she says from between her fingers, "please tell me you have a way to reach Mrs. S."

Carlton sighs, cuts another wedge of apple for himself, and eats it before leaning forward and saying, "The thing is, Sarah, I don't think it's a good idea for you to keep looking for them."

"She has my daughter!"

"Yes. And from what I understand Kira is in a great deal of danger – from the same people who we hid you from when you were little. And right now Kira's as safe as she can be with Siobhan. S is a mighty force to be reckoned with, as I'm sure you both know."

"Is she ever," Felix says. "This one time she literally stared down a Doberman who was growling at me in the park. Poor dog turned tail and ran away, whimpering."

"I remember that," Sarah laughs, but quickly turns sober again. "Carlton, what do you know about the people you were trying to hide me from? I mean, you took me out of the Brixton orphanage, yeah? I'd been in and out of foster homes before that for so long I can't even remember a time when I wasn't moving around."

"That's part of why it took me so long to find you."

"Wait – so you were looking for me? Me in particular?" Sarah asks, her eyebrows furrowed.

Carlton sets the knife and apple down again. He stares at his hands for a few beats before saying, "Yeah, Siobhan asked me to look for you."

"Mrs. S asked you to look for me?"

"Yeah."

"Why? How did she know who I was? I don't get it."

Carlton shrugs and spreads his hands. "I really think those are questions best asked of Siobhan."

"Who's deep in hiding now. Convenient."

"Look, it's not my story to tell," he says.

"I want to talk to Siobhan."

"I already told you, I think it's best she and Kira stay hidden for now."

"I want to speak with her. And I need to see my daughter, yeah? You don't get to tell me what's best for her –"

"Sarah," Felix interjects, "maybe it's better this way. We know they're safe –"

"Only because he says so. I don't know that I can trust him. In fact, I don't trust anyone at the moment, except you. No, I need to see Kira with my own eyes and I need to talk to Mrs. S – clearly she knows more about what's going on than she previously told me."

"Alright, look," Carlton says with a deep sigh. "London isn't safe right now. You aren't the only ones who have been asking questions and turning over every brick in Brixton. Someone is on to you and Felix and they seem to be looking for Siobhan and Kira, too. So – I tell you what; I'll get you out of the city and then I'll make contact with Siobhan. If, and only if, she agrees to meet you then I'll take you to her."

"How could she do this to me?"

"It's not like she's happy about it, Sarah. I know she feels bad that she took off like that, but she was protecting Kira and I would think that's exactly what you'd want her to do."

Sarah pinches the bridge of her nose between her thumb and forefinger. Carlton reaches over and places a hand on Sarah's arm.

"All I can do is see if she's willing to talk. If not, I strongly suggest that you and Felix get as far away from London and the U.K. as possible – try to draw whoever is looking for you and your daughter in a different direction."

"We need to get our stuff at the hotel first."

"Alright, I'll drive you there and then we can leave London."

* * *

"Get out of town! Are you shitting me?" Detective Deangelis says into the phone. Art looks up at his partner from where he's sitting at his desk in the police station.

"What?" He mouths.

Angie puts her hand over the transmitter and hisses, "We just got a hit on that APB we put out for 'Trailer-Trash Beth'. Some incident at an arcade in Scarborough."

"Scarborough. That's where –" Art says as he rises out of his chair.

"Yeah, you don't have to tell me. Wait, hold up," – she takes her hand off the speaker – "What hospital will they be taking her to? Yep, okay, got it. Wait – what?... Are you sure?...Okay - thanks! We'll be right there!" She slams the phone down and looks excitedly at Art. "Okay, they're taking our suspect over to General. And get this – they also have an Alison Hendrix in custody, she and the suspect were apparently having some kind of altercation; they're taking Hendrix in for questioning."

"Jesus - what the hell?"

"Where to first? The hospital or the Scarborough PD station?

"We'll decide on our way there. Jesus," Art says again, "when it rains it fucking pours crazy people!"

* * *

"I swear to you I'm not crazy; I'm a soccer mom. I'm a responsible person with a house and a mortgage and a husband and two kids. I pay my bills on time. I've never so much as gotten a speeding ticket. I pay taxes. I go to mass on Sunday and always say a prayer at bedtime,"Alison rambles on. She's pressed up against the bathroom counter facing the mirror with her hands handcuffed behind her. A female police officer stands beside her, going through Alison's purse. "Oh - oh, and I've donated to the Policeman's Ball for four years in a row now."

"Find anything else, Chaikin?" The male police officer asks his partner. He's standing next to the paramedics, watching them work on a very pale and very unconscious Helena who is now handcuffed to an ambulance gurney. One of the medics is putting an IV drip into her arm.

"Nah, just the mace and a Xanax prescription. How many of these have you taken today?" She asks Alison.

"Just the one, earlier. I swear. I only take what the prescription says. Look, I really am a good, upstanding citizen. I help coach the hockey team! And I always vote - even when it's just a school board election. There's no need to handcuff me. I'll answer whatever questions you want and I'll come willing with you to the station."

"Well that's awfully up-standing of you," the female officer says. She rolls her eyes at her partner behind Alison's back.

The other police officer chuckles then says, "You know last year's Policeman's Ball was pretty good. The year before that sucked though - they didn't serve those little wiener things - you know - the ones in the barbecue sauce."

"Lil' smokies!" One of the paramedics chimes in, snapping his fingers. "Yeah those things are good."

"My grandma puts dark molasses in the sauce," the male officer says, "Mmm, delicious!"

"That's how I make them," Alison says.

"Really?"

"My husband loves them."

"Huh. I'll have to try that," the female officer says. "I usually just use store-bought sauce."

"Oh, no. They're much better when the sauce is made from scratch. I can get you the recipe - it's really easy." Alison says, half twisting around to look at the officer.

"That'd be great. Well, are you guys about ready with her?" The policewoman asks, nodding at Helena.

"Yeah, just about," the second paramedic says as he clips the IV bag to a hanger on the gurney.

"Meissner, you go with them. I'll take this one to the station," the uniformed woman says to her partner. She puts a hand on Alison's shoulder.

"Really," Alison says, "Do you think you could just take the cuffs off? My husband and kids are out there and I don't want them to see me like this."

"Sorry, Ma'am, it's procedure. Let's go." The officer nods her head towards the door.

For a moment Alison looks like she's going to argue but she obeys, letting the other woman gently push her forward past the gurney and out the bathroom door. Alison refuses to look at the pale woman who lies on the cot as she goes by. But as she exits through the door she hears one of the paramedics say, "Jesus, are they twin sisters?"

"She's not my sister!" Alison says over her shoulder, but the bathroom door is already closed and the paramedic can't hear her.

"She looks like you- except for the hair," Officer Chaikin says.

"We're not related!" Alison barks.

"Alright! Alright! Whatever you say. Must be Freaky Friday at the arcade day again," the officer mumbles under her breath. They are walking out of the hallway now, into the arcade itself. A handful of police officers are standing in front of the large crowd that's formed near the bathroom hall, trying to keep back the press of people.

"Oh God," Alison whispers and she feels the full-body blush surge through her system. "My neighbors are going to love this, for sure." She's already scanning the crowd looking not just for Donnie and the kids but for other familiar faces of people she might know - and worse, people who might know her. Her eyes flicker past a middle-aged man with graying hair who is wearing clerical black and a white priest collar. Alison can't help but feel as though he's judging her; he certainly scowls as she walks by. Alison says a silent 'hail Mary' for upsetting a priest.

"Alison! Alison!" She hears Donnie calling her name and she looks around frantically for him. Through the crowd she sees him. He's three rows back and is practically jumping up and down in his spot, craning his neck over the people in front of him to see her. "Alison - are you okay! What the hell is going on!"

"Donnie - are the kids with you."

"Yeah, there here, their fine."

"Please, that's my husband. Please let him through," Alison says to the officer behind her. The woman brings Alison to a halt and she waves at one of the officers holding back the crowd.

"He's her husband, let him through. We'll need a statement from him, too."

The crowd parts as the police officer motions people back and Donnie is able to squeeze through, the kids follow close behind him holding hands. "Sir, just stay there and wait, someone will be along to talk to you," Officer Chaikin tells Donnie as he breaks free from the crowd. "Alright, let's go," she says and gently pushes Alison forward.

"Wait – what happened? What's going on?" Donnie asks as he ignores the officer's directions and trails after the two women.

"Sir, really, don't make me say it again. Just stay here."

"But what's going on? Why is my wife under arrest?"

"She's being brought in for assault," the officer explains, keeping a tight grip on Alison's shoulder.

"Mommy?" Gemma asks, her voice frightened, she moves towards her mother but Donnie catches her and lifts her up even as he says, "Assault?"and Alison says, "No, Gemma, you and Oscar stay with Daddy."

Just then the paramedics and second arresting police officer emerge from the bathroom hallway, pushing the gurney in front of them. The buzz from the crowd increases as people surge forward to get a better look. The other officers push them back as best they can.

"God," Donnie says as he watches the paramedics wheel past them. He stares openly, mouth agape at the all too familiar looking woman lying on the wheeled cot, then he quickly drops his gaze. Donnie risks a glance at Alison and is relieved to see she's also watching the procession go by and hasn't noticed his reaction.

"Alright, let's go now," Chaikin says and she presses Alison forward again, behind the medical team.

Out in the parking lot another crowd has formed near the ambulance. They are being held back by an officer and a hastily erected crime scene barrier. The paramedics load Helena into the back of the emergency vehicle and then Chaikin's partner climbs into the back with one of the medics. "See you later at the station," he calls to his partner.

"Yep," Chaikin says and she leads Alison over to the squad car and opens the door. Alison bites her bottom lip, holding back a sudden sob, but she half climbs, half tumbles in; it's awkward with her hands bound behind her and her balance is off. The female officer barely waits for Alison's feet to clear before she slams the car door shut. Alison presses her forehead against the side window and watches as the ambulance pulls away into the gray of the afternoon, red and blue lights flashing.

She sees Donnie come out of the arcade next, still holding a now weeping Gemma, while he talks to the male officer beside him. Oscar is walking pressed up against his father's right side. The young boy is peering around Donnie's back and spots his mother in the police car. His eyes are shimmering, but he offers his mom a small sad wave.

Alison feels the wail climbing her throat and she squeezes her eyes shut, trying to hold it together.

* * *

_Hold it together_, Cosima thinks. _Just stay calm and don't panic because then you'll just start prattling on like you always do and say things that you shouldn't say and right now you need to be really, really focused and say all the right things because it's Delphine who will get in trouble now if Leekie thinks she's helping you and - stop - no, really, stop looking at Delphine because Leekie is going to so notice and, what the fuck anyway, why did Leekie have to show up like that when things were finally falling into place with Delphine and what the hell am I still doing standing here in my boxers and tank top? Does Leekie shave his head or is he just naturally going bald? I can't believe Delphine slept with him. Okay not helping, think up an excuse. Why would Delphine be here? Why, why, why, why, why? Hot damn, but she looks absolutely beautiful with the sunlight streaming down on her like that. Ugh, I need a joint or a hot shower - can I smoke and take a shower? Delphine in the shower. Uhhhhhh….._ Cosima mind slams to a sudden stop.

"Aldous, bonjour. I just brought a research paper over for Cosima to read," Delphine says, opening the door wider for Dr. Leekie to walk through.

_Damn, she's good._

Aldous thanks Delphine and walks into Cosima's apartment. "Good morning, Cosima," he says, scanning her quickly and smiling.

"Oh, uh, I'm going to go change real quick," Cosima says. She looks back and forth between Delphine and Leekie, holding up a finger and adding, "I'll be right back." She practically races towards her bedroom, mind spinning in a million different directions again. The last thing she wants is to leave Delphine alone with Dr. Leekie, so she grabs the nearest pile of clothes and pulls out a rumpled red paisley skirt and thin black cardigan which she scrambles to pull on over her boxers and shirt. As she dresses she overhears Leekie and Delphine's conversation from the living room.

"You and Cosima certainly seem to be getting along better these days," Leekie is saying.

"Oh, well, hmm, yes, I suppose. I really was just dropping off a research paper and then I was heading to the lab. I think Cosima was going to go into work, too. So...uh, but you were looking for me?"

"Yes - I thought maybe you'd join me for a late brunch, mon trésor..." Leekie's voice drops too low for Cosima to hear as she pulls on her cardigan. She stops, hand still trapped in the twisted sleeve and listens hard. Leekie is still murmuring in what Cosima thinks is French. She pads to her bedroom door and peers around the frame towards the living room. Leekie is standing very close to Delphine now, his hand on her cheek and his face bent towards her as he continues talking. Delphine's eyes are looking down but she seems to be listening to what he's saying, holding her breath.

Cosima ducks away from the door and takes a few short breaths, trying to calm down her swirling mind. Then she calls out, "Hey, does anyone need a drink?" She walks out of the hallway, still struggling to get her cardigan on. She pretends to concentrate on pulling her sleeve right-side-out, but she's really watching the couple out of her peripheral vision. Leekie's hand drops away and he takes a small step back from Delphine. _Yeah, you do that._ Cosima glances up as she enters the living room. Leekie looks like he's the weasel caught trying to eat the French Guinea fowl and Delphine is looking slightly queasy, with a noticeable pallor in her face. She has one arm crossed over her waist, holding onto her other arm.

"Drinks?" Cosima says again, trying to sound nonchalant.

"Actually, I was just asking Delphine if she - and you, of course, would like to join me for brunch this morning."

"Oh, well, we were actually both going to head over to the lab -"

"But a girl's gotta eat, too, right?" Leekie asks and Cosima almost shudders, feeling suddenly slimy. "You know I've noticed that neither one of you has been looking very well lately - too much time spent in the lab, not eating and not sleeping properly. It'll do you both some good to get a well-balanced meal. There's an all organic restaurant downtown with the most amazing crepes" - Leekie's phone rings and he pulls it out of his back pocket, he puts up a finger - "Ah, excuse me just a moment, ladies, I need to take this call. Hello?" He says, answering the phone. Leekie moves away from Delphine and Cosima towards the window. Cosima looks at Delphine and mouths "you okay?" Delphine's shoulder slump a little and she squeezes her eyes shut for a moment before looking back at Cosima. The blonde's tiny head shake is almost in-perceivable. Cosima takes a step towards her, but Delphine waives her off, glancing over at Leekie who is standing with his back to them, still talking on the phone.

"When did this happen?" Leekie is saying. "They're both alright?...And where are each of them now? Alright...yes...no, you just stay there...no...I'll send someone." Leekie ends the call and turns back towards Cosima and Delphine.

"Is everything alright?" Cosima asks.

"Fine, fine. I just need to make a phone call. Excuse me another moment," he says and he's already dialing the phone. "Mr. Rosen? Yes, I'm afraid we're going to need your services again...yes, that's right. She's at the Scarborough police station…" - Cosima suddenly perks up - "...yes, that's right...yes, her name is Alison Hendrix," Aldous says and he looks right at Cosima as he says the name. The brunette feels the world tilt for a split second and she takes a quick step to the side to keep herself balanced.

* * *

Carlton tilts the rear-view mirror as he pulls into the hotel's parking lot so he can better see Sarah's reflection in it. He says back to her, "I'll wait here for you and Felix. Be quick." He slides the gear shaft into 'Park'.

Sarah nods and hops out of the back seat. She takes several steps towards the hotel before she realizes that Felix isn't following her. Turning back she sees Felix is still in the car talking to Carlton, his hand on the other man's upper arm. Sarah walks back and taps loudly on the passenger window, yelling, "Come on!"

Felix jumps out of the car saying, "Hey, I was having a conversation here." He walks around the side of the car and Sarah grabs him by the back of his jacket and pulls him towards the hotel.

"You can flirt with him later."

"Oi, watch the jacket. It's genuine Prada." He says slapping at her arm.

"Alright, fine," Sarah says, releasing him. "Let's just go get our stuff." She opens the hotel's side door and starts up the steps to their right. "And he's like twice your age."

"So - he's still gorgeous! That military physic and bad-boy-with-a-heart-of-gold vibe. You of all people should get it!"

"Just come on," Sarah says as they climb their way up to the second floor hallway. She takes the hotel key card out of her jacket pocket as they head down the corridor now. "I'm not sure that I trust him yet, Fee. So try to restrain yourself a bit, yeah?"

"Oh, please - like you proceeded cautiously with Paul -"

"Seriously, Felix, I don't trust him - he knows more than he's saying."

"You don't trust anyone."

Sarah pauses at the door to their hotel room for a moment before she slides the card into the key reader. "I'm just saying we need to use some caution here." She opens the door and let's Felix through before she follows him. They get several paces in, the door closing behind them before Felix suddenly comes up short and Sarah walks into the back of him.

"Seriously, Fee?" But then Sarah sees the person standing in front of grungy window, curtains flung back to take in the view of the derelict four-story building across the way. The red light of the hotel sign outside the window flashes on and off, illuminating the figure of the woman as she turns towards them.

"Oh, bloody hell," Sarah moans.

"Hello, Sarah. It's good to see you again," Rachel replies in her crisp British accent.

* * *

"Hello, Tomas. It's always a pleasure," the voice on the other end of the phone says. The small hairs on the back of Tomas' neck prickle, as they always do whenever he hears her voice. "I hear you failed to contain a certain situation today."

"I swear I had no idea that Helena had followed me to the 'Abomination'," Tomas answers, as he navigates the white van he's driving in and out of traffic.

"Clearly. And now the authorities have both of them, yes?"

"I promise: I will take care of it. I'll take care of them both."

"I told you to put Helena down the moment she came back to you. You ignored my instructions."

"I – no – I mean yes, but we'd invested so much in her. I-I won't fail you again. I promise."

There's a long sigh on the other end of the line. It reminds Tomas of a serpent hissing and he shudders. Then the voice says, "I'm getting very tired of your promises, Tomas. I want results next time or I'll find someone else to take care of this situation."

"Of course. Of course, I understand. Everything is still in place for the others. You'll still have your Armageddon, as promised." He winces at the word '_promise_'.

There's a brief pause on the other end then, "Good. I'll let you get back to it then."

With a _click_ the line goes dead and Tomas stares at the phone in his hand for a long moment before he throws it down on the seat beside him. He runs a hand quickly over the back of his neck, then he pulls the van into the hospital's parking ramp.

* * *

Paul isn't sure what it is about the man that raises Paul's hackles, but the former soldier is definitely feeling edgy as he watches the man weave in and out of the crowd towards where Paul and Gwen stand. Paul glances over at Gwendolyn. She's on her tip-toes next to him, trying to see the woman who's speaking at the front of the crowd: the rally speaker is enumerating the many injustices the nation's homeless population faces every day. Paul looks back towards the approaching man and sizes him up: the other man is wearing a camouflage baseball cap and a dark gray flannel coat. He has a well-trimmed orange goatee and is wearing sunglasses, but Paul is sure that the man's eyes are trained on Gwen.

Paul leans over to Gwendolyn so she can hear him and asks, "Is that guy another friend of yours?" It takes a moment for Gwen to register what Paul is saying. Finally she looks around the crowd for a moment before she spots the man maneuvering their way. She gives him a perfunctory once over.

"No," she answers and she turns her attention back to the front of the crowd where the speaker is now engaging the crowd in a chant.

"What do we want?" The rally leader yells.

"Equality!" Shouts the crowd. Paul can hear Gwen's voice loud and clear beside him, shouting along with the chant.

"When do we want it?"

"Now!"

The approaching man breaks free from the crowd and Paul sees a glint of metal in his hand. Even before Paul registers it as a Bowie knife the former soldier is already in motion, his fist connecting squarely with the man's chest. The sound of the "whoomp!" as his fist slams into the man's torso is lost in the din of the chanting crowd. But as Paul launches himself at the attacker, people in the immediate vicinity shout and stumble out of the way as much as the pressing crowd will allow.

Gwen whirls towards the commotion just in time to see Paul fall on top of the man, Paul's fists already wailing into the other man's sides. Gwen rushes in screaming, "Stop! Stop, Paul! You're hurting him! Get off! What are you doing!" She latches onto Paul's swinging right arm and pulls hard, toppling both Paul and herself over onto the ground. The man, his sunglasses now gone and his hat askew, scrambles in the opposite direction, searching the ground for the knife he'd dropped when Paul first hit him. The crowd around the struggling figures parts wider, as if they're waves in a pond rolling away from a dropped pebble. The rest of the crowd, oblivious to the fight in their midst, shouts, "Justice!"

"Gwen!" Paul yells as he tries to untangle himself from the grip she still has on him. "Let go! He has a knife!"

"He what?" Gwen asks, letting Paul go and rolling up onto her hands and knees. Paul jumps to his feet and grabs Gwen under the ribs, hoisting her up and away from the man who is now closing in on them again, knife back in his fist.

"Holy shit, he has a knife!" Gwen screams as she spots the gleaming blade.

"Get behind me! Get behind me!" Paul commands, pushing Gwen backwards even as he turns to face the assailant again. Just then the man lashes out and Paul grunts as the knife makes contact with Paul's raised forearm. Paul stumbles backwards, then spins as the attacker lunges forward again. Paul just manages to get out of the way of the blade and he bobs to the left and jabs at the man; his fist glances off the other man's temple and the man backs off a couple of steps to catch his balance. The assailant now circles towards Paul's right and Paul steps into sync with him, weaving and dodging as the man swings the knife in and out trying to make contact. Paul feels blood dripping down his fingertips from his cut arm, but he doesn't dare look down at it. Instead he falls into a sort of dance, zigzagging away from the blade, then back in to keep the man's attention focused on him.

Only then the blade connects again, this time across the back of Paul's hand and as Paul pulls back the man charges forward, the top of his head punching hard into Paul's abdomen. Paul falls backward on the ground, the back of his head hitting solid earth and for a moment the world goes white. Then he hears Gwen shout, "Paul!" and sees her rushing towards them. The man is spinning around now, knife raised towards Gwen, screaming, "Abomination!"

"Gwen," Paul gasps. He reaches up to grab at the man who is swinging the blade and then the knife is plunging past the woman into empty air as Gwen suddenly whirls away and kicks. _Crack!_ Her foot connects with the man's orange haired chin. The attacker's head snaps back and he falls backward, landing with a loud "_umph_!"

Gwen advances on the man, shouting, "Ten years of karate, motherfucker!"

Paul almost grins, but he pulls himself to his feet and grabs Gwen around the waist, pulling her away from the unconscious body at her feet. "Come on, come on, I'm getting you out of here!" He yells and when she struggles against him, Paul hoists her up and literally slings her over his shoulder.

"Put me down!" Gwen screams and now she's beating on Paul's back with small, but powerful fists. Paul bears the beating and runs full tilt past startled rally members and tourists who scatter in his wake.

* * *

Sarah thinks, _"Run!"_ And she does, or at least she tries to – grabbing Felix's arm as she turns to flee towards the hotel door. Even before she's fully spun around however, she hears a scuffling sound and she knows that someone else is behind them. Then she sees the man, dressed in a black guard's uniform, step out of the bathroom. He's carrying a pistol in his hand and while he's not aiming it at them, the threat is very much implied.

_Bloody hell! Okay, think! What next? Just stall!_ Sarah turns back around and says, "What are you doing here, Rachel?"

"Whoa - is this that Proclone bitch?" Felix asks Sarah, jerking his chin toward Rachel.

Rachel looks a beat at Felix then back at Sarah. "Your foster brother - Felix - yes? He's just as charming as you."

"Great - what do you want Rachel?" Sarah asks.

"Why to see if we can come to new terms, of course."

"We never came to old terms, so just get to your point."

"The point, Sarah," Rachel says, "is that we strongly suggest you reconsider taking us up on our offer."

"Yeah, so, here's the thing: your offer sucked. No deal, lady. Now I suggest you and ape man here leave -"

"I know you're looking for your daughter. She's been missing since the night you last turned down our offer, as I recall."

"You don't have her - so you don't have anything to negotiate with."

"Oh Sarah, you must have a very low opinion of us to think that we would kidnap your daughter and use her against you."

Sarah scoffs and folds her arms across her chest. "Right…"

"Well, I admit we'd hoped that you would come to see that life would be safer for the both of you under our care. Cosima, for instance, is doing much better, health-wise, and we're close to finding a cure. And Alison is living a normal life again, thanks to our protection."

"Bullshit. Those religious nuts have her scared out of her gourd again and as for Cosima -"

"Religious nuts?" Rachel asks and pauses.

"Yeah, you know the crazy ones who sent Helena to kills us. Huh. Alison didn't tell Leekie, did she? Guess I'm not the only one who doesn't trust you."

"Alison received a recent threat from these people?"

"Yeah," Sarah says wondering if maybe she's said too much. But a myriad of emotions is playing across Rachel's face and she seems to be working through something in her mind. Rachel turns partway to look out the window and bites the tip of her thumb. She quickly realizes what she's doing and puts her hand back at her side.

"Well, that does accelerate things a bit," Rachel says.

"Accelerate?"

"Oh," Rachel says, waiving her hand and turning back towards Sarah and Felix, "We've received intel suggesting that the Prolethians were active again and we feared another attack of some kind. That's why it's so important that we get you under our protection as soon as possible. We really do have your best interest at heart," Rachel continues as she takes a step towards Sarah.

The window behind Rachel explodes into a thousand pieces. Rachel screams and falls to the ground. In the same moment Sarah grabs Felix and drags him down to the floor, yelling, "Get down!"

Felix yelps but he lets Sarah pull him towards the nearest bed as she commands, "Get behind the mattress!"

The security guard races past them to the other side of the room, bellowing into the walkie-talkie on his shoulder, "Shots fired! Shots fired!" He crouches over Rachel. "Ma'am - ma'am are you alright?"

Rachel uncurls and looks up, "Yes, yes - I'm fine. What just happened?"

"Someone took a shot at you," he says taking a quick glance out the window.

"Oh really?!"

"Let's get you away from the window," he says pulling her up into a crouch as he shields her with his own body.

Sarah peers around the edge of the bed and sees the guard and Rachel half-squatting, half-running towards them. There's a whistling noise and the second mattress erupts with white tufts of stuffing as Rachel and the body guard hurry by. "Go!" The body guard yells and pushes Rachel ahead of him. Then he jerks suddenly forward, sprawling on top of Rachel. Thump, thump, thump, thump, thump! The floor around the man explodes and he jerks twice. Rachel cries out and tries to pull herself out from beneath the guard's heavy weight. She looks around, eyes wide and rolling and spots Sarah.

"Help me!" Rachel screams and without thinking, Sarah scuttles out towards her.

"What are you doing?! Get back here!" Felix hisses, scrambling to grab Sarah's ankles.

"Stop, Fee!" Sarah hisses back and kicks her leg free. Sarah grabs hold of Rachel's outstretched hands and pulls the other woman out from under the body guard.

"Get behind that wall!" Sarah roars at Rachel, who scrambles on a broken shoe heel towards the open closet space across from the bathroom.

"Sarah!" Felix calls. He peeks his head out and watches as Sarah tries to wrestle the gun out of the dead guard's hand. A bullet riddles the floor next to Sarah's left side; she yelps and rears back but then she grabs and twists the gun out of the corpse's grip. Sarah scrambles backward to the closet where Rachel is crouched.

"You okay, Fee?" Sarah asks, catching her breath.

"Yeah, yeah – you?"

"Yeah, just peachy. Can you tell where the gunshots are coming from?"

"No," Felix whispers back. "You?"

Sarah peers around the corner towards the window. The gunman must be in the derelict building across the street from the hotel, but she can't determine the exact location. She answers, "No. Okay. This is what we're going to do. I'm going to shoot a couple of rounds then rush the room door. Once I know the hallway's clear, Ill give you the signal and you two make a break for it, yeah?"

There's a long pause. Sarah looks over at Rachel who is huddling on the ground next to her. "Okay?" Sarah asks and Rachel meekly nods her head. "Okay, Felix?" She demands and she hears him answer a small, "Yeah."

"Here we go." Sarah points the gun at the window and fires a couple of random shots. She scrambles backward as she pulls the trigger, practically steamrolling over Rachel as she does. Sarah yanks the hotel room door open and rolls into the hallway, swinging the gun wildly from side to side. The hallway is empty. "Jesus," she breaths and presses her back up against the hallway wall. But she only pauses a moment before wheeling back into the open doorway. She fires towards the window again. "Okay – go, go, go, go, go!" She yells and both Felix and Rachel barrel out of their hiding spots, running for the door. Even though Felix is farther away, he makes it out first. Sarah pushes him farther into the hall and she stretches out to Rachel who Sarah practically flings out into the hallway next to Felix.

"Stay here!" She demands of the two, who have collapsed in a heap on the hallway floor. Felix reaches a hand towards Sarah but she's already dived back into the hotel room. She emerges a moment later, two suitcases in hand. She shoves one at Felix and yells, "Okay, get up! Let's go! We gotta get out of here in case there are more gunmen!"

Felix splutters, but he's already up and running behind Sarah. He's aware that Rachel is hastening after as fast as she can on her broken heel. They race down the hallway and out into the stairwell. Sarah is fumbling for her cell phone to call Carlton, but through the window in the stairwell she sees she doesn't have to call him – his green car is already pulling up to hotel side entrance. Sarah swaps the phone for the gun in her belt and races out the side door, gun pointing back towards the empty building.

"Get in! Get in!" She yells, dropping her suitcase and jerking open the back door. Rachel and Felix scramble into the back and Sarah throws her suitcase in after them, not caring who it might hit. "Oi!" Felix cries, but Sarah is already sprinting around to the front passenger side. She jumps into the car yelling, "Drive!"

"Who the hell is she?" Carlton asks looking back at Rachel.

Pop, pop, pop! Bullets hit the trunk of the car.

"Drive now! Talk later!" Felix yells as he beats on the back of Carlton's seat. Carlton doesn't even hesitate, he floors it and the car spins out of the parking lot. A bullet cracks through the rear windshield and everyone screams. Then Carlton makes a hard right and the car is speeding down a narrow alleyway then out into a busy street on the other side.

"Everyone okay?" Sarah asks looking into the back seat. Both Rachel and Felix are wild-eyed and Felix is wedging one of the suitcases between his headrest and the cracked windshield.

"I'm fine. I'm fine," Felix says. "You?"

"Good. Rachel?"

"Yes. I'm fine," Rachel says and she runs a quick hand down her torso and legs just to be sure.

"What the hell was that?" Carlton asks, weaving in and out of the two lane traffic. He keeps glancing back at the woman in the back seat and then over to Sarah.

"The Prolethians," Rachel answers. "I warned you, Sarah. We know they've been planning something."

"Uncanny that," Sarah growls, "they're showing up at the very same time that you do." She pops the ammo chamber out of the gun and checks the ammo supply before slapping it back in.

"Someone tell me what's going on!" Carlton barks.

Sarah looks over at him and shrugs. "Someone shot at us. We ran. Now you're driving."

"Life is anything but dull around you," responds Carlton.

"You have no idea."

"And who the hell is she?" Carlton asks gesturing towards the back seat. "Does she – is she? I mean, she looks just like you – only blonder."

Sarah bites her thumb and looks out the window.

"Uh – Sarah – uh – Proclone has a phone," Felix says.

"What?" Sarah looks back at Rachel and sees that the woman is dialing a cell phone. Sarah snatches it out of the woman's hand, "Who the hell are you calling?"

"The Institute – they'll send out an extraction team to come get us," Rachel says her voice now returning to a normal treble.

Sarah scoffs. "You're not calling the Institute." Sarah rolls down the car window and throws the phone out of it. She turns and watches the phone smash apart on the street behind them.

"That's my phone," Rachel protests, looking back at it through the rear window.

"Send me a bill," Sarah says offhandedly, turning back around in her seat. Carlton is still veering the car in and out of traffic, ignoring stoplights.

"We'll be safe at the DYAD facility. I suggest that's where you drive us."

"Not happening," Sarah says and she glances out the passenger side mirror. She asks Carlton, "Do you think anyone's following us?"

"Not that I've seen – no."

In the backseat, Felix watches Rachel slip off her black crystalline embellished shoes. She looks almost mournfully at the shoe with the broken heel.

"Are those Manolo Blahnik?" Felix asks.

Rachel nods. "Special order."

"That's just tragic." Felix holds up the corner of his own jacket, showing her a new rip in the lining. "Look – it's ruined!"

"Oh, no. Prada?"

"Yes. Don't people know it's beyond rude to shoot at people with good fashion sense?"

In the front, Carlton asks Sarah, "Who was shooting at you?"

"Remember you said there were other people asking a lot of questions lately?"

"Yeah—"

"Well, I think their questioning methods just got a lot more aggressive."

"And who is she again?" Carlton asks, nodding back towards Rachel.

"Someone I'd rather not talk too much in front of. Pull over here," Sarah says, motioning towards a parking lot. Tires squeal as Carlton makes a hard left and turns into the lot. Sarah looks back over her seat at Rachel. "Okay, end of the line. Get out."

Rachel looks around. "You can't just leave me here."

"Ah, yeah. Yeah, actually, we can."

"But the shooter—"

"Isn't following us. So get out and go crawl back to your collective."

"Sarah," Rachel says soothingly, "What happened earlier, back at the hotel – it should be a reminder of what life outside our protection will be like for you and your daughter. We can keep you safe—"

"Yeah, tell that to your dead security guard. Get out of the car, Rachel. My answer to your proposal stands."

Rachel sighs and glances over at Felix who shrugs. "Fine," Rachel says, "But I'm sure we will be in touch again soon." Rachel opens the door and coolly steps out, her broken heels dangling in one hand. As soon as she closes the door behind her the car speeds off, back into the heavy traffic. Rachel blinks and looks down at her shoes.

Just then a man in a business suit walks past Rachel on the way to his car. She notices the cell phone pressed to his ear and in one casual movement, she deftly plucks the phone from his hand. The man sputters a protest, but Rachel holds up her right index finger and says in a cold, clipped accent, "This is an emergency."

She ends his call, dials a new number, and her call rings through.

* * *

Aldous' phone rings and he waylays the question he knows is forming on Cosima's lips by holding up his index finger. "Just a moment – I have to take this. Hello?" He answers. "Uh…Rachel?...What's going on?...Are you okay?...Oh, thank goodness – and what about Sarah? Is she okay?" – "Dude!" exclaims Cosima and she reaches for the phone. Leekie turns away and starts pacing. – "What happened exactly?...Do you know who shot at you?" – "Motherfucker! Is Sarah okay?" Cosima asks as she trails after Leekie – "Alright, just stay there until a team arrives. Hold on a sec." Aldous glances at his phone screen then says, "Dammit! I have another call – I have to take it. You call me back as soon as the team arrives." He switches over to the other call. "Paul? Why are you calling?" - "I seriously need a joint!" – "Fuck! When did this happen?...Is she okay?...Good, just get her out of there!...I'll call you back with further instructions later, just do what you have to do meantime."

Dr. Leekie hangs up and hits his forehead with the end of the phone. "Shit!" He exclaims and he spins toward Cosima and Delphine.

"Dude, what the hell is going on?" Cosima demands as she tries to light the fat joint in her fingers. Delphine is sitting on the arm of the settee concernedly watching Cosima.

"We don't have time to talk – I need to get you out of here!" Aldous says and he grabs Cosima's upper arm, pulling her towards the door.

"Hey!" Cosima shouts as she tries to twist her arm away.

"Aldous, what's going on?" Delphine asks, jumping to her feet.

"There's been multiple attacks on the subjects. We need to get Cosima to the Institute where she'll be safe." He's marching Cosima towards the door even as he dials his phone and shouts into it, "Code red! Is everything clear down there?...Alright, we're coming down. Be ready to move."

"But—" Cosima protests, trying to pull her arm free again, but Dr. Leekie's grip is too hard to break.

"We can argue when we get to the Institute!" Aldous shouts and the fear in his voice is enough to pull both Cosima and Delphine along with him.

"But what do you mean attacked?" Delphine asks, as they step out into the hallway. Aldous hits the elevator button.

"All I know at this point is that someone tried to harm several of the subjects. It sounds like a coordinated effort." As they board the empty elevator Leekie speaks into his phone again, "Still clear? Okay, we're coming down."

"Are Sarah and Alison okay? Who attacked them?" Cosima starts.

"Don't worry, they're both fine. Right now you're my concern until we get you to safety. My guess is it's the Prolethians doing the attacking. We heard rumors…" The elevator rattles to a stop on the ground floor and Leekie pulls the metal grate open. The lobby in front of them is vacant and they hurry out. He's on his phone talking, "We're in the lobby. Everything clear outside? Okay, be ready to drive off as soon as we get in." He hangs up the phone, puts it away, and now he has a hand on both Cosima and Delphine's arms, hurrying them across the lobby then out the front door and down the outdoor steps towards the limo that sits idling along the curb. The three scurry towards the vehicle and Leekie releases his grips on the women in order to open the back door.

Bang! Something hits the top of the limo. Then bang, bang, bang! Bullets dent and rend the vehicle's side.

"Get in! Get in!" Leakie yells pushing first Cosima and then Delphine into the car. He scrambles in after them yelling, "Go!" He's vaguely aware that both women are on the floor of the limo and Cosima is coughing as he pulls the door shut behind him. Bullets slam against the car door and one cracks the passenger window. The safety glass crackles into a webbed pattern but it holds together.

The limo is racing down the street now away from the hail of bullets and Leekie pulls himself up onto the seat. Cosima and Delphine are both still on the floor and he reaches down to help Delphine up into the seat next to him, but the immunologist pushes his hand away. She's bent over Cosima who's breath is coming in deep shuddering gasps. "Cosima, Cosima!" Delphine is saying, "Are you alright?" The blonde's hand is on Cosima's back and she's helping the other woman turn over. Cosima's coughs are wet and wheezy now and as the brunette turns Delphine feels the stickiness on Cosima's back.

"Quoi?" Delphine asks taking her hand away and looking at it. Her palm is red and now she sees Cosima's ashen face framed by her black dreads; Cosima's chin and cheeks are splattered sanguine and a bubble of blood is on her lips.

"Non, non, non!" Delphine cries and she presses her hand against Cosima's wet back again. "Cosima, Cosima! Aldous, elle a été abattu ! Oh, non, non, non, non, Cosima. Reste avec moi! Reste avec moi!"

Aldous falls to his knees next to Delphine. He feels the blood on the carpet before he even sees the dark stain on Cosima's black cardigan. "Call ahead to the Institute!" Leekie yells up at the limo driver, "We need a triage unit standing by! She's been shot!"

"Mon amour, mon amour. Nous sommes presque là. Il va bien, Cosima. Reste avec moi," Delphine is whispering over and over. She cradles Cosima in one arm as she struggles out of her own jacket. She tucks her coat under Cosima's back and presses it against the wound. The brunette gasps, long and raspy, blood gurgling in her throat. Cosima's hazel eyes meet Delphine's brown shimmering eyes for just a moment, then Cosima's gaze rolls out of focus and everything goes black.


	7. Chapter 7

**VII.**

A haze of thick white cigarette smoke curls around Delphine's head as she paces by the "No Smoking" sign posted prominently on lounge's bulletin board. She barely tastes the tobacco as she drags deeply on the cigarette, filling her lungs with much needed nicotine. Delphine's eyes are red and puffy both from the haze of smoke and from the tears that still silently course down her cheeks. The blonde crosses one arm over her pale blue blouse, the front of which is crusted with blood. It's been an hour and ten minutes, no an hour and eleven minutes, since the limo sped up to the DYAD Institute's back security doors and a triage unit descended on the vehicle. Fifty-eight minutes since the team of surgeons had rushed Cosima's still form down the hallway to surgery. Thirty-two minutes since Delphine could no longer stand and watch the operation from the observation room; the chest of the woman she loved cracked and splayed open so the doctors could locate the bullet and re-inflate a collapsed lung. She can still see red flesh, red blood, whenever she closes her eyes; she fears she will be seeing red forever. Delphine takes another long drag and tries to hide in the whiteness of the smoke that hangs like a shroud in the room.

The automatic door to the lounge opens and Aldous Leekie walks in, carrying a manila folder in one hand and a coffee in the other. Delphine looks up immediately as he enters, scanning his face for news before she asks, "Is she out of surgery?"

"No," Aldous responds and puts both the folder and the coffee down on the glass lounge table. He grabs the light blue pack of _Gauloises Caporal_ cigarettes and lighter from where they sat next to Delphine's empty coffee cup, which now serves as an ashtray. He lights a cigarette and inhales deep before continuing, "They were able to remove the bullet, but they're still trying to inflate the lung." Delphine rubs her forehead and turns away from Aldous, barely containing a sob. Aldous walks up behind her and wraps an arm around her chest, pulling her close. "She's with our best surgeons," he states into Delphine's ear.

"Please don't," Delphine says as she shrugs out of his embrace.

"So...you're not even going to pretend anymore?"

Delphine turns to look at him. He's taking another long drag, watching her reaction closely. Delphine closes her eyes briefly, takes a moment, then says, "I'm sorry, Aldous. I'm just worried about Cosima."

Aldous sits down on the couch behind him and crosses his legs. He's still watching her. "Hmm," he grunts and leans forward, taps the ash off his cigarette into the empty coffee cup. "Of course. We both are." He puts the cigarette back in his mouth, saying, "Ironic, though, isn't it? We were trying so hard to cure Cosima's respiratory failure only for her to be shot in the chest. And here we are, destroying our own lungs." He blows smoke out of the corner of his mouth.

Delphine sinks into the couch opposite Leekie. She puts her hands to her face, cigarette still burning between her index and middle fingers. This time she can't control the sob that bubbles up from her chest. The immunologist's shoulders shake with a silent howl that is ripping apart her insides, wailing through the synapses in her brain. She gasps but shoves the scream back down, it tastes like bile and burnt ash and the coppery spice of Cosima's lips as Delphine performed CPR on her in those last few moments in the limo when Cosima's own breath broke and became so utterly still.

Aldous sighs and sits forward in the couch, observing Delphine for a moment. "Delphine," he says and he pushes the large manila file across the table towards her. "Here." Delphine looks up, furiously wiping away her tears. She looks down at the folder.

"What is it?" she asks between sniffles.

"Something that might help."

Delphine hesitates but then she reaches for the file and opens it with trembling fingers. She slides out a stack of papers containing charts, scribbled formulas, DNA sequences, blood tests. She flips through, her brow furrowing deeper with each page turned. At the back of the file she finds a thin medical folder marked "Kira Manning." Delphine gasps and glances briefly at Aldous before thumbing through it. She pulls out a series of ultrasound images and holds it up for better viewing. She gasps again. "Oh, mon Dieu! How is this even possible?" She looks up at Leekie again.

He leans backward in his seat, hands splaying out in front of him. "You're the immunologist - you tell me."

She looks back down at the images as she wipes away an errant tear from her face. Then she flips through the papers again and pulls out a document labeled at the top with 21324b. Under the number, in Aldous' distinct engineer lettering is written, "Sarah Manning." She squints up at Aldous then back down at the page. "Is this - is this Sarah's blood sample results?

"Yes. From when we pulled her in for testing under the assumption that she was Beth." His eyes narrow.

"Oh?" She scans through the results, her finger tracking across the page.

"Delphine," Leekie says and when she doesn't immediately look up he says her name again, "Delphine. I know you've been helping Cosima."

Delphine freezes, her finger stilled upon the page. Then she turns the page over and pretends she's reading the backside. "Of course, I'm helping her find a cure."

"You know that's not what I mean. You've been helping her - and the others." He uncrosses his legs and stubs out the cigarette on the table's glass top. "And as for your involvement with Cosima, I'd say it goes far beyond the role we assigned you as her monitor and research partner." He pulls out another cigarette and lights it. "You both are terrible liars."

Aldous reaches into his shirt pocket now and takes out something which he flings onto the table. Black and white photos scatter across the glass top. It takes Delphine a moment to register what the images show: Cosima and Delphine in various modes of dress and undress at Cosima's old apartment. Delphine's eyes skip over the pictures, as her heart begins to pound in her ears. One of the pictures shows the two women locked in an embrace, one shows them sprawled naked and sleeping on the bed. Another shows the women kissing in the living room of Cosima's new apartment - was that only this morning? Delphine touches her forehead, as if she's shielding her eyes and she sits back.

"Aside from data collection, my job is to watch the watchers. Did you really think I wouldn't know what you were up to?"

Delphine closes her eyes and bites her lip, trying to steady the tremors that are now coursing through her body along with the howl that still bays in her temple. "Please - Aldous - I can explain." She looks up and sees that Leekie is watching her intently, his head tilted to one side and his fingers steepled under his chin. Delphine looks away, struggling for words and failing.

"Yes," Dr. Leekie says, "you make a very convincing case." With the cigarette hanging out the side of his mouth, he begins to gather up the photos. "This one is my particular favorite," he says, showing Delphine the photo. It displays Delphine in a moment of ecstasy, head thrown back, breasts bare, hands gripping at the pillows behind her head. The top of Cosima's head is just visible between Delphine's thighs. Delphine sniffles and puts her hand to her mouth. She looks away.

"Clearly Cosima is skilled in more areas than Evolutionary Development," Aldous baits as he looks at the picture again. He slides the photo back into his shirt pocket. He neatly stacks the rest of the pictures and slides them under Delphine's pack of cigarettes. "For your collection."

Delphine's jaw clenches and her eyelashes flutter. In a breaking voice she says, "I didn't mean for it to happen."

"Yes, the pictures make it look like quite the accident." He throws his half-spent cigarette stub into the coffee cup and sits back. "It's not that you slept with her, Delphine. It wouldn't be the first time a monitor slept with their subject and I suspected that you would be just Cosima's type when I chose you for the assignment," - Delphine looks up at him - "It's that you betrayed the Institute's trust by helping Cosima and the others." He sits back in his seat and brushes down his shirt, saying in a flat voice, "Of course you also betrayed me personally and then lied to my face about it."

"What are you going to do with me?" She forces herself to ask.

"Do? Why? Is there something you want me to do to you?" Leekie raises an eyebrow and grins his slow hyena grin. "I can certainly think of a few things..."

Delphine's head jerks up and her eyes go wide.

"Oh, don't flatter yourself. Really. I enjoyed our time together and would certainly be...up for more fun with you, but I would never force myself on you. No, Delphine, you're still useful to us as an immunologist and researcher. And as long as Cosima's alive, you'll be useful as a means of controlling her. But under the circumstances I thought we should come to a new understanding."

"Why didn't you give us this folder earlier? It's clearly valuable to our research -"

"The Tokyo team was working on it. Besides, prior to the attack, Cosima's health was fairly stable and I wanted to see just how far the two of you would take the charade. It was quite amusing, actually. "

"Salaud!" Delphine curses, rising to her feet.

"Now you just sound like my wife."

Delphine gasps and plops back down on the couch, stunned.

"Oh - did I fail to mention that I'm married?" Leekie drawls, his canines showing.

"Va te faire foutre!" Delphine hisses under her breath.

"Hmm...maybe later." Aldous stands "I suggest that you get working on the new information. You'll find a sample of Sarah's blood in the lab's refrigerator." He turns to go then pauses and says, "I'll tell the medical team to call you as soon as Cosima's out of surgery - I'm sure you'll want to see her."

* * *

"You can see her now," the doctor tells Detective Bell as she steps out of the hospital room. "But she's still unconscious, so she won't be able to answer any of your questions just yet."

Art rises out of his seat. He's been waiting in the hallway since Angie had dropped him off at the hospital. The doctors had still been trying to stabilize the suspects condition when he'd arrived, so he'd spent the last half an hour or so waiting outside her room trying to avoid a conversation with the arresting officer, Constable Meissner, who only seemed to want to talk about the local hockey team's losing streak. Art hates hockey. He finds it disturbingly homicidal: grown men wearing masks, beating a black puck (and often each other) with sticks, and skating around with razor-sharp blades strapped to their feet. Yes, he hates hockey - almost as much as he hates waiting rooms and, well, the actual waiting part. He had just started to wish that he had swapped places with Deangelis when the doctor had emerged.

"The patient is stable for now," the doctor is saying now, pulling Art back into the moment. "But she was brought in with clear signs of severe anemia and dehydration. We've been flushing her system with fluids as fast as we can. We also struggled to moderate her arrhythmia; her heart rate was extremely erratic. It's my understanding that a stun gun was used several times on her?" She asks, tight-lipped as if she is very disappointed in that kind of behavior. Art nods. "Well," she continues, "like I said, she's stable for now. But we are still trying to determine if her unconsciousness is due to the exhaustion and anemia, the Tazer, or something else altogether. We'll be running another series of tests in another hour or so."

"Is there any sign of other injuries? A cut or a gunshot wound maybe?" Art asks. He's thinking about the unexplained pool of blood at the warehouse, red snow angel with tracks leading away.

The doctor frowns, saying, "Not anything recently, but her body definitely shows signs of past abuse, even possibly self-harm. She has extensive scarring on her back and burn marks on her arms and legs. From the size and shape of the burn scars I'd say a car lighter was probably used."

"Wow, that's messed up," Constable Meissner says. He's still sitting in his chair next to Art's empty one, clearly hanging onto the doctor's every word.

The doctor ignores him, continuing, "She does have a scar on her chest and back that would be consistent with a bullet entrance and exit wound, but not from a recent event."

"So no chance she could have been shot within the past couple of weeks?"

"No, definitely not. The scar tissue suggests an old wound."

Art says, "Alright, thank you. I'll just sit with her a bit. Maybe she'll wake up."

The doctor nods her head and hurries off.

"You want me to join you?" Meissner asks, rising out of his own chair now.

"No! I mean: no, it's best we have a guard stationed in the hallway for now," Art says hastily and he steps just as quickly into the recovery room, closing the door behind him. The room is small, just large enough for a bed, a couple of chairs, and an EKG machine. The suspect is stretched out on the bed, both an IV drip and a blood bag feeding into her left arm, while her right wrist is handcuffed to the bed railing. In the dim light of the room, her blonde, curly hair frames her face like a white aura. Art pauses a moment by her bedside, staring down at her. Despite the hair, she looks so much like Beth that it's hard for Art to take his eyes off her. He remembers Beth's morgue picture - she looked like this in the end; pale skin, blue lips, purple bruises under her eyes, so very still. Of course Beth had also had gruesome lacerations across her features. Art grimaces. He still can't comprehend why Beth killed herself. What drove her to do it? Did it have something to do with how all of these women are connected? Quadruplets separated at birth would be the simplest (though still highly unusual explanation), but Art feels in his bones that no simple explanation can begin to explain what is going on.

Art pulls one of the chairs up to the side of the bed and settles in, prepared to wait as long as necessary for this woman to wake up and answer some of his many, many questions.

* * *

"Left, right, or straight?" Carlton asks.

"Well, that's an awfully personal question," Felix quips. "But if you must know, slightly to the left."

"What?" Carlton furrows his brows, then suddenly he understands and feels his face warm up. "No - no, I mean left, right, or straight at the intersection."

"Oh," Felix says. He glances down at the unfolded paper map on his lap. "Uh." He shrugs. "Did I mention I'm directionally challenged?"

"Bloody hell," Carlton murmurs and takes the map. He skims over it until his eyes find the right route. "Okay, we're here, so we go right."

"Oh good," Felix says, beaming. "It would be a shame to go straight."

Carlton's lips curl slightly even as he rolls his eyes. "Here," he says, handing the map back to Felix who starts folding it up.

"How's sleeping beauty?" Carlton asks as he presses the gas pedal and makes the turn.

Felix glances into the backseat. Sarah is stretched out, as much as the limited space allows, across the full length of the seat, her coat draped over her torso. The two suitcases are crammed into the back passengers' foot-space.

"I'd say she has another decade or so to catch up on her beauty sleep," her foster brother says.

"Well, all we have are about a two and a half hour drive to Cardiff on these back roads."

"And Mrs. S will definitely meet us there?"

"That's what she said when I called. Actually it was more like, 'What the bloody hell do you think you're doing breaking my cover like that, you great big gobdaw? You and those two kids of mine are as dense as two short planks!. Fine, I'll meet you but if you bring ruin down on our heads, you won't see the bullet that killed you.' And then I think she actually cursed at me in Gaelic."

"That's Mrs. S," Felix replies, continuing to fold the map. Except for the occasional crinkle of paper, they drive in silence for five or so minutes. Finally Felix holds up the creased map with a "Ta da!" He's folded it into a pirate's cap. "It's what all the fashionable travel guides are wearing these days," he says, donning the hat.

"You sir," Carlton says, "are now dashingly hatted." He looks over at Felix for a moment. Their eyes meet briefly and then Carlton looks back at the road.

Felix smiles. "I am rather at that, sir." He flips the passenger sun visor down and admires himself in the small mirror. "So…," he drawls out, "we have two hours or so until we get to Cardiff?"

"Yeah."

"Hmm. Whatever shall we do? Oh, I know - let's play _Twenty Questions!_"

* * *

"Just answer the question, Mrs. Hendrix," Detective Deangelis says, tapping her black plastic pen against her notepad.

"I already told you, detective," Alison says, "I don't know who she is." Alison moves to smooth down her bangs, but then she remembers that her fingertips are still dyed faintly black with fingerprint ink and she puts her hands back down on the top of the table, palms flat down so she can't see the ink blotches. She wonders, not for the first time, if she'll ever be able to wash the black ink away or if she'll be permanently branded with the splotchy tattoos, forever marked as a criminal for the whole world to see. Like her own personal scarlet letter. How Aynsley would love this! Aynsley with her smug, self-righteous smile.

Angie sighs and mumbles under her breath, "Why do I always get the soccer moms?"

On their drive into the suburbs, she and Art had decided to split their efforts with one going to the police station to question Alison and the other going to the hospital to question their pale suspect. They'd played _Rock, Paper, Scissors_ and Angie's rock had lost to Art's paper with a resounding, "Animal-fondling cunt sack! Who the fuck chooses paper?" To which Art had replied, "You know, Deangelis, you just get more charming by the day." It had been a very silent and chilly drive the rest of the way to the hospital where Angie had dropped Art off before heading to the police station.

"Okay," Angie says through gritted teeth. "I'm going to ask this one more time. But first," - she holds up a finger - "let me read to you from the security guard's statement. Quote, 'Then the crazy lady with the stun gun pointed at the unconscious blonde chick and said, 'she's trying to kill me. She's already killed several of us.' End quote." Angie leans forward, "Now, tell me: who the hell is the woman you claim attacked you in the bathroom?"

"I know I'm entitled to a lawyer. And a phone call," Alison sniffs, "and you could treat me with a little more courtesy."

"Oh, I got courtesy coming out of my ass, lady. See - I've even brought you some pretty pictures to look at." Angie flips open the manila folder on the table in front of her and turns over a mug shot of Sarah Manning. "Recognize her?" Deangelis demands, her eyes narrowing. "Look familiar? This one has a rap sheet as long as your arm." Alison purses her lips together. Angie continues, "No? Okay, how about this one?" She flips over the next photo. It's a grainy black and white surveillance image of Helena, pasty face framed by a fur-lined hood. "This one is wanted in connection with at least two known murders. She's the one you nearly tazed to death in the bathroom. You know, the one that was attacking you. The one who 'killed several of us'. No? Still no answer? Okay, how about this one," Angie continues, turning over the next image. It's a rendering of a reconstructed woman's face with bright red hair. "This one we dug up - in pieces. She was so badly mangled we had to reconstruct her freaking head." Alison makes a 'hmm' sound but otherwise stays silent. "And this one," - Angie tosses over the next photo - "is sitting right in front of me. Notice any resemblance between your beautiful mug shot and the previous images? Hmm? You know, I think I'm going to get this one framed and put it up on my mantel at home. Maybe you'd like me to frame one to give to your husband and kids? No? Okay, well last, but definitely not least, we have this one," Angie says as she turns over the final photo. It's an autopsy photo of a woman's face with multiple lacerations on her cheeks and forehead. Alison gasps and sits back in her chair, putting her blackened hands to her face.

"Put it away, please," Alison whispers.

"Why? Because it's gruesome or because you know her?" Angie asks, sitting back in her own chair. She taps the photo with the tip of her pen. "Take another look and tell me if you recognize her."

"Please, no." Alison is breathing through her fingertips, the acrid smell of the fingerprint ink clings to her nostrils but she doesn't want to take her hands away in case she glimpses Beth's picture again. Not Beth, who Alison had admired so much. If Beth were here, none of this would be happening. Beth had been discreet. Beth had been strong. Wait – no. No, in the end Beth had left them behind – left Alison behind – unable to bear the unraveling of her personhood. Beth had left everyone else to deal with the mess. Alison's rising anger dries away the tears forming in her eyes.

"This one was my friend - a certain Detective Childs," Angie is saying now, her eyes narrowing on Alison. "Well no, we weren't friends. We were colleagues. Well okay, we couldn't actually stand each other. But there it is and I'd still very much like to know why she's dead. Any ideas?"

"No. Please."

"Fine," Angie says with a huff and closes the folder over the images. "I've put them away."

Alison counts to three then peeks through her fingers. All of the photos are now back in the file and out of sight. She puts her hands down.

"Good. Now, perhaps you have a theory as to why you look so much like all these other women? Was it half-off face day at the plastic surgeons and you all chose the same model? Cause I gotta tell you," she says, leaning closer and whispering, "I think you got ripped off."

Alison's eyelid twitches and she puts a hand to her throat. She touches the place where her crucifix usually hangs, then remembers that both her necklace and her wedding ring are sitting in an envelope somewhere in the police station.

"Listen here," Alison begins through tight lips, "I have just had one of the worst days of my life. I've been attacked by a psychopath wielding a knife, threatened by a snot-nosed security officer, handcuffed, strip searched, fingerprinted, and had my personal belongings confiscated - I am not about to be humiliated by some trash-mouthed, horse-faced, second-rate detective, Elvira-wanna-be with hooker lipstick and split ends."

Angie smiles tightly. Then she tilts her head back and laughs. "You know," she says, "I think you just channeled everything that Detective Childs ever wanted to say to me."

* * *

"Talk to me."

Gwendolyn McCray crosses her arms over her chest and looks up at the diner's ceiling. The tiles overhead are yellow with age and tobacco smoke and there are brown spots from where the roof must have leaked. Outside the diner a big-rig truck pulls back onto the highway, blaring a horn at a car that whips past it from out of nowhere. Tires squeal, but Gwen is still staring at the ceiling, counting the number of perforations in the tile directly overhead. She gets to fifty-three before Paul says, "You know, you can't give me the silent treatment forever."

Gwen drops her head down and looks at the man sitting across from her. He's still wearing his black long-sleeved shirt from earlier that day, but now he has white gauze wrapped thickly around his right forearm and hand. A touch of red shows through the bandage on his arm. She looks down at the blueberry pancakes on her plate and pushes at them with a fork for a moment - she hasn't eaten so much as a bite of them. She sets the fork down and looks out the window at the highway. Dusk is setting and most of the vehicles on the road now have their headlights on. Beams flash across the diner's windows whenever a south-bound vehicle drives past.

"And you're going to get hungry at some point." Paul watches Gwen watch the traffic go by. He sighs and shoves his own half-eaten plate of food away from him.

"You know," he says, trying a different tact, "you have some mighty fine karate moves. I never would have guessed it of you. What color of belt are you?"

Gwen continues to stare out the window.

"I'm third degree pupil in Hapkido myself. Not that I proved that today." He shows off his wounded arm. "My former Dan would be very disappointed."

"Shodan."

"What?"

"Shodan. First degree black belt," Gwen mumbles, eyes never leaving the window. She shrugs her shoulders.

"Huh. I guess that means you outrank me," Paul teases.

Gwen turns away from the window and looks Paul up and down before sighing and looking towards the diner counter and the kitchen beyond it. "Where's our waitress?" She asks.

"Why?"

"I thought maybe you could kidnap her, too, and tie her up in the trunk of your car. Abduction is always more fun with company."

"I didn't kidnap you , Gwen."

"No? Yet here we are, on some back road fifty miles outside New Orleans and all I want to do is go home."

Paul leans forwards and speaks in a hushed voice, "It's not safe to go home right now."

"So you keep saying."

"You were attacked by a guy with a knife earlier. Doesn't that concern you?"

"He was probably off his meds and delusional. We should have stayed to see if he was okay instead of you dragging me off like some cave man high on Stone Age man-juice."

Paul quirks an eyebrow and Gwen grimaces at herself.

"As in steroids," she explains.

"Hey, I was just protecting you from a crazy person."

"You do understand how unstable that sounds, right? And how the hell does a man without a job have enough money to rent a car?"

Paul wipes his mouth slowly with his paper napkin. He grabs a toothpick from the dispenser on the table and picks at the space between his two front teeth for a moment. Gwendolyn's hard stare suddenly reminds him of Sarah. He wonders briefly where she is, what she's doing. "Look," he finally says, sliding the toothpick to the back of his teeth, "sometimes you just have to trust people."

Gwen snorts and looks outside. _"Yeah,"_ Paul thinks, _"Sarah wouldn't have bought that one either."_ Out loud he says, "There are things I can't tell you right now. Just know that I'm looking out for your best interests."

"My best interests are back in New Orleans - checking on that man, for instance. And calling the police, of course," Gwen hisses and Paul looks around the diner. Except for a couple of truckers who sit at the counter and their waitress who is just emerging from the kitchen, the diner is empty. He decides to gamble.

"Okay here," he says and he slides his cell phone across the table to Gwen. "Call the police if that will make you feel better. I didn't kidnap you, Gwen. I'm really just trying to protect you.

Gwen picks up the phone and looks at it, then back at Paul. "Just tell me what's going on, Paul. Clearly you're keeping important information from me."

"I really can't say, Gwen. I wish you'd just trust me. That guy back there in the park was sent to hurt you and I'm here to keep you safe."

"Wait - I've seen this movie - are you trying to tell me that you're from the future and my name is actually Sarah Connor?" She's playing with the phone and Paul wonders if he's made a mistake by giving it to her. Suppose she really does call the police? But the look in her eyes seems much more curious than frightened and he's banking on her natural trust in people to keep her in check until he can get her to safety.

"No, you're not Sarah Connor and I'm not a Terminator."

"Alright. Here's the deal. I'm hanging onto this phone while you go pay for our meal. I assume you can cover it? Yeah, of course you can. Then I want you to drive me back to New Orleans. I know: danger, danger, blah, blah, blah. But you can take me to one of my friend's homes instead of my own. You do that and I won't call the police."

"Gwen -"

"Paul."

"I can't take you back to New Orleans, they most likely have people watching your friends there, too." He puts up a hand to ward off her protests. "But I can take you someplace else. Do you have friends anywhere close by?"

"Okay, yes, compromise. I have a friend in Jackson, Mississippi you could take me to. I haven't seen her in awhile, so I think we'll be safe from these people you think are after me."

"Alright." Paul smiles. "I'll go pay and then we can head out."

"To Jackson?"

"To Jackson," he agrees with a nod and slides out of the booth. He walks over to the counter and Gwen watches him go. She waits until he's engaged with talking to the waitress. Then, never taking her eyes off him, she snatches the steak knife off his plate and slides it up her right sleeve. She itches to use Paul's phone, too, but he turns back before she can start dialing. He smiles as he walks back to their table. Gwen sits back in her seat and gives Paul her best fake smile. The metal blade of the steak knife is cold against her skin.

* * *

"Is it something you can put in your mouth?" Felix asks.

"Yes." Carlton says as he navigates his car through the city's nighttime streets, heading towards Cardiff Bay.

"Hmm. Is it juicy?"

"Yes."

Felix makes a sound at the back of his throat akin to a purr. "Is it, um, actually edible?"

Carlton ponders this for a moment then says, "Uh, yeah, I guess – yes."

"Is it a bodily secretion of some kind?"

"Eww – what are you two on about?" A groggy voice asks from the backseat.

"Oh, it lives," Felix says, peering into the backseat at his foster sister. She's still lying down across the length of the seat, rubbing her eyes with both hands.

"Yeah, sort of." Sarah moans and sits up. A momentary wave of dizziness passes over her and she grips the door handle to stabilize herself. She blinks at the lights of the city whirling past them. "Are we here?"

"Just about," Carlton confirms. He turns the car down a two lane, cobbled street. They round a bend and, through a line of dark trees, they can see the illuminated pillars of the Roald Dahl Plass, a public plaza near the city's wharf. Carlton pulls the car into a parallel parking spot and says, "Now, we're here."

Sarah is out the door before he finishes his sentence and before he's even able to put the car in park. Sarah thumps her fist on the top of the car multiple times trying to hasten the men up.

"Jeez, Sarah," Felix says as he climbs out of the car.

"Come on, let's go," Sarah calls as she sets off towards the plaza's beacons of rainbow light. Felix jogs after her, Carlton fast on their heels.

"Whoa, slow down, Sarah," Felix says, grabbing at Sarah's arm as he catches up. She easily twists out of his grip.

"We're almost there, Fee." Sarah glowers at him and sets off again, the two men falling in line behind her.

To the northeast of the plaza the words on the Wales Millenium Centre's façade glow amber. Sarah can just make out the silhouette of a person standing black against the light. Sarah briefly touches the gun in her coat pocket, but she doesn't slow her pace as she hurries towards the person.

"Mrs. S?" Sarah calls as she nears the figure.

The person turns and in the amber illumination of the building, Sarah sees the stern features of Siobhan. Mrs. S' eyelids narrow as she takes three quick steps towards Sarah and slaps her foster daughter hard across the face.

* * *

Ghostly blue-white blood cells, transparent as jellyfish, sway across the black field of the 3D monitor, hypnotizing Delphine with their beauty. She sighs and rubs her eyes. She's been staring intently at the screen for the last half hour comparing Cosima's wet blood sample to Sarah's; Cosima's red blood cell count is definitely higher with fewer platelets than Sarah's, but considering Cosima's illness, that's not too surprising. Now, for just a moment, Delphine allows herself to be mesmerized by the way Cosima's cells move across the screen; they are alive and their slow unearthly waltz gives Delphine hope.

The blonde checks her work phone again, just to make sure that it's still working, that the batteries are fully charged, and that the ring tone is set at the loudest volume possible. She's as afraid she'll miss a call as she is that she'll get one. She rubs her eyes again and looks back at the screen; Cosima's cell sway on.

Beside the microscope, all of the Tokyo team's research is laid out on the table. Delphine glances through it again. The team has been working on a drug that targets specific toxic epigenetic markers reversing cell degeneration. Delphine removes a sample of the serum from the nearby nitrogen mini-cooler and adds a couple of drops to Cosima's blood sample. The effect is like adding oil to water, the initial flush of liquid drug washes over the tiny cells, knocking red cells, white cells, platelets together then separates out into a filmy substance.

Delphine is craving another cigarette. As a substitute she chews on the capped end of a black plastic pen, rolling it back and forth over her tongue to the corner of her mouth. She rubs her eyes again and checks her phone. It's still charged and set at the highest volume; no missed calls or texts.

The immunologist removes the glass slide from under the microscope and replaces it with a sterile one. She adds a fresh drop of Sarah's blood from the refrigerated sample, mixed with anti-coagulant fluid to keep it liquid. Delphine places the fresh slide under the microscope. White hollow circles on a black screen. She adds a drop of serum and it breaks up into small oily balls, bumping against the cell membranes. Delphine sits back in her chair, rubbing her chin.

Delphine takes a test tube full of albumin out of the cooler and adds a tiny bead of it to the slide. She used to play like this as a child, adding a droplet of this and a droplet of that from her toy chemistry set. Of course her chemistry set then had consisted mainly of such benign chemicals as citric acid, calcium hydroxide, and potassium bitartrate. She remembers a time when she was a child of eight or so, crying on her father's lap, begging him to give her just a little bit of hexavalent chromium or even just a slightly higher concentration of hydrogen peroxide - not enough to blow up the lab, mind, just enough to create a small volatile reaction. Her father had laughed and then told her firmly 'non, ma petite Madame Curie'.

She glances at the monitor. No real change. Delphine grabs Kira's medical history file and pulls out the ultrasound report. It clearly shows tissue healing itself, in one frame the tissue is pulled about a centimeter apart, in the next it's completely fused back together. It's not possible. Not humanly, anyway. Or more accurately, it's not possible in a human that hasn't been genetically altered in a significant way. Of course there are other creatures in the world with the ability to heal. The axolotl in the lobby fish tank, for instance, can regrow lost limbs. Theoretically, with the right DNA splice humans could exhibit similar traits. As Einstein said, "Any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic."

"L'autre coté du miroir," Delphine mumbles to herself and she adds a drop of Cosima's blood to Sarah's sample. She pinches the bridge of her nose between her thumb and index finger, as if to squeeze out the headache from behind her eyes. She watches the monitor, ghost cells in the black. The blonde reaches for her phone again. Just as her fingers close around it, the cell phone rings, its tone blaring in the quiet lab. She nearly drops the phone, but catches it just in time.

"Hello? Oui?"

"She's just about to come out of surgery," the nurse says on the other end of the line.

"How is she?" Delphine asks, then holds her breath.

"They re-inflated her lung."

Delphine sighs, squeezes her eyes shut, and smiles slowly at the words. The nurse continues, "She's still in critical."

"Yes, of course. I'll be right down - thank you!" Delphine hangs up and hurriedly starts cleaning up the table, she straightens her lab notes and piles the Tokyo research together. She puts Sarah's blood sample slide in the incubator. Finally she clicks off the microscope and monitor and runs out of the lab.

* * *

Not for the first time, Gwen considers jumping out of the car and making a run for it. Especially now that they've stopped at a gas station and she can see the clerk standing at the counter inside the well-lit store. Instead she glances in the side mirror and sees Paul is still busy pumping gas. Hiding the glow of Paul's phone as much as she can in her hands, she scrolls through his contact list. There are only a few entries and none have actual names assigned to them, just a capital letter followed by three numbers. _Weird._

She hears a clunking noise and glances over her shoulder to see Paul is taking the gas pump handle out of the car's fuel tank and hanging it back up on the pump. She presses the phone against her left thigh as Paul turns and walks over to her car door. He taps on the window and looks in at her. "Do you want something to drink?" He asks loudly, so she can hear him through the glass. "I need a Mt. Dew to keep me awake."

"A water," Gwen says back and Paul nods his head and forms the 'okay' sign with his thumb and fingers. Then he turns and heads towards the gas station store. Gwen's eyes follow him until he disappears through the store's door, then she looks back down at the phone. She presses a random contact and hits send. She glances back at the store door, and slouches down in her seat so she's less visible as she waits for the call to ring through.

It rings several times before whoever is on the other end of the line picks up. "Paul," a male voice says in greeting. "I'm sorry I haven't called you back yet, it's been a rather stressful day. Is Gwendolyn still safe?"

Gwen gasps and looks at the phone in her hand as if it's a poisonous snake that's just bit her.

"Hello? Hello? Paul?" The voice on the other line asks.

Gwen puts the phone back to her ear. "Hello?" She asks tentatively. There is a long pause on the other end of the line after which she can hear a long intake of breath before the man says, "Hello. Who is this?"

"Who's this?" Gwen asks, her voice cracking with rising panic.

"I'm a friend of Paul's. Is he there? Is he okay?"

"Uh…" The social worker spots movement out of the corner of her eye and she looks up to see Paul coming out of the store. The phone falls out of her hand and onto the passenger floor. She scrambles to get it, hitting the top of her head on the dashboard before her fingers curl around it. She jabs a finger on the end call button as she sits back up. Through the tangle of her hair she sees that Paul is almost at the car. Gwen slides the phone underneath her thigh and quickly runs her fingers through her hair trying to untangle it. One of her fingers gets caught in a knot and she's still trying to pull it out when the driver's door opens and Paul slides into the car. He hands the bottle of water over and then pauses, taking in the wild look in her eyes.

"Are you okay?" Paul asks.

The phone under Gwen's thigh rings and she nearly jumps out of her car seat.

"Whoa," Paul says, putting a hand on her arm. "It's just my phone."

Gwen pulls the phone out. The screen reads "L632"; it's the contact she had called. Paul snatches the phone out of her palm.

"Hey!" She says and reaches to grab it back, but Paul is already climbing out of the car, the phone at his ear, saying, "Hello?" He closes the door firmly behind him and walks a few paces away. He looks like he's listening intently to whatever the person on the other end of the line is saying.

Gwen eases the steak knife out of her sleeve.

* * *

A sudden sharp jab in the back of his neck jolts Art awake. He rears his head up, eyes flashing around the room. It takes him a moment to remember that he's in the recovery room at the hospital waiting for their murder suspect to wake up. The detective rubs his neck, working out the acute kink that had woken him. He glances at the woman laying in the hospital bed next to him. Hazel eyes meet his brown ones. The blonde shifts slightly and a soft metal clunking sound draws Art's eyes to the handcuff on her wrist. Only the handcuff is no longer locked in place and her arm is free.

"Uh," Art starts to say, scrambling to his feet. Before he's even fully out of his chair his jaw explodes in pain with the force of the kick the suspect delivers to his head. Detective Bell topples backward over the chair, his head slamming first against the wall behind him and then his right arm takes the impact of the floor as both he and the chair topple over. White hot circles dance in and out of Art's vision for a moment. He's vaguely aware of the blonde standing over him. He blinks slowly and then she's gone from his field of vision. His first coherent thought is _"how did she get out of her handcuffs?"_ His second is, _"why am I still on the floor?"_ He hears a scream in the hallway outside the room and he scuttle to his feet. His head spins, but he forces his feet to stay beneath him as he hastens out the door, his fingers scrambling to unsnap his gun holster.

In the hallway, Art practically trips over the body of Constable Meissner who is sprawled motionless on the floor, eyes wide and staring up at the ceiling. Art has just a moment to realize that the gun from the officer's holster is gone before he's aware of the movement in his peripheral vision. He puts up his right arm defensively just as the small blonde in the the hospital gown brings the butt end of the gun down on it. He more hears than feels the snap of his wrist and his gun clatters to the floor. The detective cries out and stumbles, practically falling to the floor again. But the woman grabs him by the throat from behind and pulls him shakily back up to his feet. She puts the barrel of the other officer's gun to his head.

"Move. Now!" The woman hisses in his ear, in what Art believes is a thick Slavic accent. A female and male nurse stand frozen at the nurses station just a few feet down the hallway, mouths agape, eyes tracking every move as the scene unfolds. The suspect pushes Art forward with her small body. The man obeys, cradling his throbbing wrist in his left arm. They round the corner of the nurses station and the woman momentarily takes the gun from Art's head to threaten the two nurses with it, telling them to keep back. As she maneuvers him past the station, Art spots a single man sitting in the small waiting room just past it. The man is dressed in a black clerical cassock. The priests eyes shine when he spots Art and the woman, but he somehow doesn't seem surprised to see them. A sharp intake of breath at Art's ear makes him think that the suspect, however, is surprised to see the clergyman. The priest rises slowly to his feet, his arms splayed out as if showing he's unarmed except for the black Bible in his left hand.

"Tomas," the woman draws out the name in a wavering sibilance.

"Helena - child..." the cleric says calmly, a slow smile spreading across his face. "There's no need for this kind of violence. Let the man go and you can come with me. I'll take you home."

Bang! The sound reverberates off the walls of the waiting room and down the hospital's corridor. The priest jerks backwards and collapses, bullet hole in the center of his forehead.

"Shit!" Art exclaims under his breath as the suspect pushes the still hot barrel of the gun back to his temple. She shoves Detective Bell towards the body where she pauses, looking down on the dead man. She spits on the body, drawling, "No, Tomas. You go home."

"Why don't you just put the gun down," Art says, trying to control the tremble in his voice, "Helena - it is Helena, right?"

The metal barrel digs deeper into his skin and she asks, "Where's Sarah?"

"Sarah?" Art queries, brain racing. Then it dawns on him. "You mean Sarah Manning?"

"Yes," she stretches out the 's' like a serpent. "Where is she?"

"I - I don't know. I swear. I'm actually looking for Sarah, too." Something about the way her breath hitches tells the detective that he's said the wrong thing. Art consciousness shatters and spirals into a hundred golden stars as the handle of the gun smashes into the side of his head. He collapses onto the floor and the stars burn out to darkness.

* * *

Even in the amber light of the cultural center, the four people standing in the plaza seem shrouded in the utter blackness of the night. Sarah stares at Mrs. S, her eyes a shimmering onyx, as the young woman gently pressing the tips of her fingers against her swollen cheek.

"What the hell were you thinking, Sarah! Running after Kira and me like that?" Mrs. S voice rises angrily. "Don't you know the danger you've put your daughter in by coming?"

"How dare I?" Sarah scoffs. "How dare you! You kidnapped Kira!"

"I did what I had to do in order to protect her-"

"Where is she?" Sarah demands, her fists clenched. She takes a step towards Siobhan, then feels Felix's hand curl around her arm.

"Let's just take a deep breath, yeah?" Felix says, looking back and forth between the two women.

"And you!" Siobhan exclaims, turning her attention on her foster son for a moment. "What were you thinking - letting your sister chase after us like that? Neither of you have more sense than geese running straight into the fox's den!" Felix opens and closes is mouth several times.

"Don't you dare blame him!" Sarah yells.

"Perhaps we should take this pissing match somewhere more private?" Carlton suggests. The other three spin towards him and he takes an involuntary step backwards. "Or not."

"You're just as much as a blind goat as they are!" Siobhan growls at the man. "I told you not to contact me unless it was an absolute emergency!"

"It was an emergency!" Carlton defends himself. "These one here," - he points at Sarah - "was about to break my neck if I didn't get in touch with you." Even in the shadows of the plaza, Carlton can see Siobhan's eyes blazing. He adds in a feeble voice, "She is Kira's mother."

"What have I always told the three of you? 'A good retreat is better than a bad stand' - you jeopardized my good retreat!"

Sarah's anger and frustration boils over and she grabs the collar of Siobhan's jacket. "You should have waited for me!"

Siobhan puts her hands on Sarah's, but she doesn't try to pull away from Sarah's grip. "You were off making a bad stand. You've always been too damn impulsive and you were putting Kira at risk - again!"

"I was protecting her!"

"No, Sarah, you were chasing things better left un-caught. Do you know that a group of armed men broke into my house that night? Fortunately I saw them coming and got Kira out of her bedroom window before they found us. I had no choice but to run! And to keep on running."

Sarah releases Siobhan's collar and shrugs off her foster mother's hands. The younger woman takes a step back, her chin quivering. "I didn't know. And I didn't know for sure that you were the one that had Kira until Carlton told us this morning. Do you know what that's like? To have your daughter just simply disappear like that."

"Yes," Siobhan says and her voice is suddenly tired and sad. "How many times did you run off without a word of goodbye?"

Sarah closes her eyes, her eyelids sticky with tears. She sighs. "I know," she says and opens her eyes again. "But, please, Siobhan. Please. I just want to see my daughter."

"Mommy?" A small voice quavers from behind Siobhan as Kira steps out from the darkness.


	8. Chapter 8

VIII.

Pinpricks of yellow and white stars swirl across the curved ceiling of the jet's private bedroom. The light emanates from a star projector sits on the small night stand next to the twin bed on which a five-year-old girl lies. The covers are pulled up to the girl's chin, so that all that can be seen of her is her round, soft face framed by long brown curly tresses. Her large hazel eyes, now dark brown in the room's dimness, follow the pattern of constellations twirl overhead. A thin sliver of light from the cabin outside the room filters past the bedroom door which is slightly ajar. The light is momentarily dissected by a shadow and the little girl pulls the blankets up closer to her neck and whispers out, "Mommy?"

The door creaks open wider and a dark figure appears. The girl swallows hard but then the responding answer, "Yes, Angel? Why aren't you sleeping?", makes her dimples deepen with her smile.

"I was looking at the stars."

The figure in the doorway sighs, then enters the room pulling the door mostly shut behind. Artificial starlight spins across the approaching woman's face and body. Rachel sits on the edge of the bed and smoothes down the bed covers. She kisses her daughter's forehead saying in a soft British accent, "You should be asleep, my little astronaut."

"Will you tell me a story?" The girl pleads. Rachel pulls in a breath to respond but the girl cuts her off with a high-pitched, drawn-out, "Pleeeeeeeeease?"

"Alright, you. But just one. What story would you like?"

"The one about the swan. You know, the cy-guy."

"You mean Cygnus?"

"Yeah. But tell it like Grandpa does. I like his version," the child says emphatically.

"Your grandfather doesn't always tell you the most age-appropriate stories," Rachel says with a sigh.

"Please!"

"Alright, but I'm editing it a bit. Let's see...once upon a time," Rachel starts and her daughter says 'once upon a time' in unison with her, "when the world was new and the gods still walked the earth, the goddess Nemesis paused at the edge of a blue lake to gaze at her own reflection -"

"Because she was beautiful."

"Yes - she was beautiful. But more - she was cunning and just a little too mischievous for her own good. Just like someone else I know," Rachel says, tweaking her daughters nose gently causing the little girl to laugh. "While she was admiring herself in the lake water, the god Zeus spotted her from far above and - hmm - fell in love."

"Grandpa says he lusted after her, but Zeus was married and knew his wife would be mad at him so he turned himself into a swan so his wife wouldn't know it was him. What's 'lusted' mean?"

"Never you mind, but I'm certainly going to speak with your grandfather about his choice of words,," Rachel says as she flattens out the bed cover again. "So - well, yes, so Zeus took on the guise of a swan in order to get a better look at the young woman. Zeus was always changing into animal shapes in those days so he could walk the earth, unrecognized, and get away from the stresses of being a god for awhile. So now in the form of a swan, he flew down to the lake and dipped his webbed toes into the cool, blue water."

"Did the fish tickle his toes?"

"Yes. The fish tickled his toes," Rachel said, reaching back and wiggling the little girls own toes through the blanket. Her daughter laughed again. "And just like you, Zeus honked with laughter. Only he was a god of lightning and thunder and his laughter echoed across the lake and stirred up the thunder in the distance. However, the sound of an impending storm startled Nemesis and she was about to flee towards the safety of her home in the woods when she spotted the large white swan on the lake. She forgot all about the storm and called to the bird, 'Oh, Swan, how handsome you are!' Zeus was pleased by her attention and he swan closer so that the young maiden could pet his soft feathers."

"And scratch his beak?"

"Yes, and scratch his beak."

"And then Zeus makes her fall into a deep sleep and then he puts an egg in her belly."

"Ava!"

"What? That's how grandpa tells it," the girl says defensively, sitting up in bed. "And then when the goddess wakes up she lays a great big white swan egg. You tell the rest."

"Lie back down and get snugly first. Okay. Nemesis lays a beautiful white swan egg. But she's a goddess and has many goddess duties to attend to, so she gives the egg into the care of her faithful servant Leda who cares for the egg. Until one day it hatches open and inside is a lovely little baby girl."

"Helen of Troy - the most beautiful woman in the world!" Ava shouts excitedly, sitting back up in bed.

"Yes, yes. Lie back down and settle," her mother says and helps pull the covers back over her. "To celebrate the birth of his daughter, Zeus sprinkles the night sky with eight new stars which create the image of the swan constellation, Cygnus."

"And you know what?"

"What?"

"Grandpa says that one of the stars has a planet around it, like Earth. I'd like to go there someday," the little girl says, staring back up at the pattern of stars that swirl upon the arched ceiling. She yawns and rubs her nose. Rachel smiles gently at her daughter and leans forward to kiss the girl's forehead.

"Well, study hard and you could be an astronaut someday."

"Or a swan princess."

"How about an astronaut princess?"

"Mm...that would be good, too."

"Now listen, Ava: Mommy has to go take care of some business for awhile, but Ryota will be out in the other room the whole time if you need her."

"Okay," the word is swallowed up in another yawn. "Goodnight, Mommy."

Rachel gets up and heads for the door, whispering back, "Goodnight -"

* * *

"Monkey!" Sarah cries and takes a lunging step towards her daughter just as Siobhan steps between the two saying, "Kira! I told you to wait in the car!"

"You left her in the car?" Exclaims Sarah, pushing Mrs. S aside so she can scoop her daughter up into a tight, desperate embrace. Siobhan's protests are lost in Kira's excited cry of, "Mommy!" The young girl wraps her arms around the back of her mother's neck and holding on tightly. "I missed you."

"Me, too, munchkin. Me too. Gah - let me look at you," Sarah says, holding her daughter slightly away from her. The amber lights of the Millennium Centre cast everything in an ethereal haze, like an overexposed sepia photograph. Kira scrunches her nose and smiles at the intensity in her mother's eyes as she gives Kira a thorough once-over.

"Where have you been, Mommy? Mrs. S and I have been on a great adventure! We took a long plane ride and we've been taking the train all over England and Wales, now we're on a ship - I like it here. Felix!" Kira shouts, spying Felix to the left of her mother. Sarah hesitates for just a moment, not wanting to let go, but then she swings her daughter over into the open arms of her foster brother.

"Hello, precious!" Felix says giving Kira a huge hug followed by a high-five.

Never quite taking her eyes off her daughter, Sarah turns toward Siobhan and hisses again, "You left her in the car!"

"Which is parked right there!" Siobhan points into the darkness but Sarah doesn't even bother to look. "I couldn't trust leaving her with anyone."

Sarah rounds on Mrs. S now and the two women glare at each other standing in mirror images of each other with clenched fists on their hips and faces chiseled in craggy stone.

Carlton decides to gamble an intervention again, saying, "I really think it's best we move this conversation elsewhere. This place is too exposed." He does another eye sweep of the plaza. Stars twinkle overhead.

"If you hadn't brought them here in the first place -" Siobhan starts

"I know, I know. You can yell at me later, Siobhan. But we really need to get out of the open." He puts a tentative hand on Sarah's arm and adds softly, "Please, let's just get someplace safer first."

"Fine! But we're only taking one car. I'm not letting them out of my sight again." Even in the black both women's sets of eyes seem to throw lightning at each other.

* * *

Art's head splits open and a god falls out. At least that's the image swimming in the darkness of his still waking consciousness as he blinks in the hazy white light of the hospital waiting room. He's vaguely aware that he's lying prone on the hard, cold floor and that someone is touching his arm, rumbling at him. The detective cringes, tries to form his lips to say 'shh' but his head hurts too much and blinking against the overhead lights is taking too much of his concentration.

Then the thunder in Art's ears start to morph into actual words: "Sir! Sir are you okay?" Art briefly struggles to sit up but he can't and the male nurse at his side is holding him down. "No," the nurse says, "stay still. Your eyes are dilating - I think you have a concussion."

"Where is she?" Art asks or at least he thinks he does, he's not sure if his mouth is actually forming around the words.

"Sir? Sir stay awake. What's your name?"

"The woman," Art mutters, trying to wave his hands around or maybe that's just his head spinning.

"She's - she's gone. She ran out the stairwell door. We called the police - they're on their way. Try to stay awake sir."

"Call...call Detective Deangelis," Art slurs, "it's in my phone - jacket pocket." He tries to fumble in his pocket, but now his hands feel like lead and he can't even seem to lift them off the floor. He feels the nurse rifling in his coat pocket. "Deangelis," he says again then, "Damn it. Ugh…" And the lights go out again.

* * *

The lights briefly flicker off and on in the interrogation room.

"Dammit!" Angie curses, sitting back in her chair and scowling up at the fluorescent lights overhead as if her determination alone will keep the lights on. But then the lights flicker again and this time goes out completely.

Alison takes the brief moment of black respite to wipe away an errant tear on her cheek. The two women have been sitting in absolute silence for the last ten minutes or so, trying to stare the other person down. The tear is more from eye strain than any emotion. The darkness envelopes them for only a brief moment and then the emergency lights click on, flooding the room with red light.

Angie sighs and gets out of her chair. "Don't move!" She barks, jabbing a finger towards Alison; the detective walks backwards towards the door and ducks out, leaving the door slightly open as she looks up and down the exterior hallway. The emergency lights are on out here, too and the main office area at the end of the hallway is bustling with officers running to and fro. "Hey!" Angie shouts towards the end of the hall and one of the policemen pauses to look back at her. "What's going on with the lights?"

"Don't know," he says, shrugging. "They just went out."

"You're a fountain of knowledge. You know that?" Angie snarls, then ducks back into the interrogation room. She stands for a moment considering the brunette woman still sitting quietly on the other side of the table. Angie sighs again. Why does she get all the shit jobs? The detective walks around the table and leans on the edge of it, her knee barely touching the arm of Alison's chair. She decides to try a different tactic.

"Look, I can dance with you all night," Angie says, "if that's what you want. But somehow I think you'd really rather just go home. So if you answer my questions, this can end and I can let you do just that."

"I want a lawyer," Alison says, looking down at her hands on the table. The black fingerprint ink on them looks almost brown in the rose light and she rubs her right thumb over her left index finger trying to clean it.

Angie leans back and grabs the manila folder from where she had been sitting. The detective opens it and looks at Alison's arrest sheet, sitting on top of the stack of photos.. She finally starts, "It says here your husband's name is Donnie Hendrix."

Alison looks up at the detective. "Is that a question?"

"Two children. Oscar and Gemma Hendrix. Adopted. Hmm, I bet those kids are really missing their mom right about now. Bedtime - and where's mommy to tell us a beddy-bye story and tuck us in for the night? Sorry kids, mom's in jail serving fifteen months for assault and obstruction of a murder investigation. Such a shame. One whole year plus some gone from your kids' lives before you can tuck them in at night again," Angie says, the whites of her eyes and teeth glowing pink in the red light.

Alison clenches her jaw shut.

"Huh," Angie harrumphs, continuing to scan through the police report. "Your maiden name is Hendrix?"

"Yes. And?" Alison asks with a hiccup. She puts a hand to her cheek and leans forward on one elbow.

"So your husband took your last name?"

"Is that a crime too now?"

"No...just not very common. Why'd he take your last name?"

"I assume my lawyer is on the way?"

"You need a lawyer to answer that question?"

Alison sighs, then says, "He didn't like his last name so he took mine when we got married."

"Why? Is his surname something horribly embarrassing? Like Titstoodle or Mylittlecock?"

Alison closes her eyes and centers herself. She counts slowly, numbers cascading in the red light of her mind. She opens her eyes, sees Angie is waiting for an answer.

"Hyman."

"Hyman? Really? Donnie Hyman. Well, shit, that's not too bad," Angie Deangelis says. She thinks about it for a moment and then with a voice an octave lower continues, "Hi, I'm Donnie and I'm here for your daughter's hymen - I mean hand in marriage. Wait," -Angie leans closer, her smile suddenly toothy - "did he pop your cherry?" She puts a finger in her mouth and makes a popping noise.

"No wonder Beth hated you! You are the most vulgar -"

"Beth...hmmm...so you did know her then," Angie says her lips pulled wide in a feral grin.

The door to the interrogation room bangs open and Angie jumps off the table and spins, her hand already moving to her shoulder holster. A female officer stands in the doorway, looking in at her wide-eyed. Alison recognizes her as the woman who had arrested her at the arcade.

"Jesus, what the hell -" Angie starts to say but is cut off by Officer Chaikin words, "There's been a shooting at the hospital. One policeman is dead and another seriously injured."

* * *

"Shit!" Paul says, getting back into the car.

"Trouble?" Gwen asks, trying to sound nonchalant but her voice cracks at the end. She flicks her thumb against he serrated blade of the steak knife which she hold hidden against her right thigh. The knife is barely sharp, but she knows that with enough force behind it the utensil can be a serious weapon.

"No - just - look - you really shouldn't have used my phone." Paul runs his palm across his aching forehead.

"Why? Was that your accomplice?"

"My accomp - no! No, Gwen, I'm serious about trying to protect you. So is the guy you talked to, actually. Only now I have to bring you in."

"Bring me in? What does that mean?" Gwen asks, glancing at the lights of the gas station and rubbing her thumb across the blade again.

"Listen," he says, "I didn't want to have to tell you this - but I'm a cop."

"A cop."

"Yeah, an undercover cop. New Orleans PD -" Paul's mind is spinning, trying to decide what story to go, but Gwen seems way ahead of him.

"How many lies are you going to tell me, Paul?" Gwen says, her grip on the handle of the knife is so strong her whole arm is shaking from the exertion.

"I'm not lying."

"The fuck you are!" Even in the dim light filtering into the car from the gas station's exterior lights, Paul can see that Gwen's face is wine red.

"Look, Gwen, calm down - please," he says and lays a hand on her left arm. The next instant he's screaming as the steak knife jabs through the white bandage and into his flesh, almost exactly in the same spot of his previous wound. Paul yells incoherently and jerks the knife out of his arm just as Gwen throws her car door open; it bangs loudly against the cement pylon to the front of the gas pump. Gwen is out of the car now, dodging around the gas pump, running full tilt towards the store. She can see the clerk at the counter, but he has his back to her, stocking the shelf of cigarettes behind the counter. One moment she's running, canvas shoes slapping against the asphalt, the next she's falling, pushed down by a heavy weight behind her. Gwen barely gets her hands out in front of her before she skids hard across the blacktop. Slivers of pain shoot through her palms and up through her tendons. Even with her hands out in front of her, Gwen's chin bounces off the pavement. She tastes blood in her mouth and realizes that she's bitten the inside of her left cheek. Then she feels her legs being clamped together by Paul's knees as he half climbs up her body, grabbing her arms and pulling them behind her.

Gwen jerks her body backwards, tries aiming the back of her head towards where she thinks Paul's head would be. He rears back out of her way but he has a firm grip on her arms now and his knees are pressed hard against her outer thighs.

"Easy - stop fighting me," he says, "I'm not going to hurt you."

"You fucking bastard!" Gwen screams, still trying to struggle. She looks up at the store and sees that the clerk is looking out the window towards them. "Help!" she yells. She hears a large vehicle trundle by on the highway behind them. She thinks for a moment that the driver has seen them because the breaks squeal for a moment but then the vehicle continues to speed off down the road.

"Help!" She screams again at the clerk behind the store widow. He's definitely seen them now, his eyes are large and his mouth is open. He hurries back toward the counter and Gwen blazes with hope that he is calling the cops. Paul must have spotted the clerk, too, because he curses a long string of expletives. He heaves Gwen backwards as he rocks onto his feet, pulling her up with him.

"Come on, Gwen! Stop!" Paul yells as she continues to fight him, even as he pulls her back towards the car. Her legs are free from his vice-lock now and she kicks backwards at his shin. Her foot connects solidly and for just a moment his grip loosens as he grunts with the pain. She uses the moment to twist and pull against his hold on her arms. Suddenly she's free again. Free and running at speed towards the store.

Gwen half expects to be thrown to the ground again but then she's through the convenience store's front door and she's vaguely aware that it swings shut behind her. The clerk looks up at her from the counter, phone receiver in hand.

"Are you alright, ma'am?" He asks, lowering the phone from his mouth.

"Call the police!" Gwendolyn yells as she hurries toward him.

"I called - but the line is down. Did he hurt you?" The man - no, he's really just a high school kid with acne and long greasy black hair - asks. Gwen grabs the phone from his hand, saying, "What? What do you mean it's down?" She yells into the phone, "Hello! Hello!" A flat continuous beep answers back. She glares at the receiver. "Oh god, this is not happening!"

Gwen takes a second to look back over her shoulder. Through the store front she sees that Paul is still standing near the pump islands, just a few paces away from the rental car. His hands are on the tops of his thighs and he's bent over slightly as if he's trying to catch his breath. Fresh blood is clearly visible on the white arm bandage; Gwen briefly wonders how badly she may have stabbed him.

"Ma'am, is he your boyfriend?"

"What? No! No, he's - he's unstable. Don't you have a cell phone?"

"No, Ma'am."

"What teenage kid doesn't have a cell phone?" Gwen cries, exasperated. She sees movement out of the corner of her eye and turns to see that Paul is now walking towards the convenience store. Through the storefront window their eyes meet and lock together.

* * *

Through the tinted observation window Leekie watches as Delphine settles into a chair next to Cosima's hospital bed. The recovery room is large but minimally furnished and the lights are dimmed so that the only real light source in the room is coming from the heart monitor on the other side of Cosima's bed. Delphine seems to hesitate for a few moments, sitting and looking at Cosima's pale face, as if memorizing it. Finally the immunologist slips her hand over the other woman's right hand; Cosima doesn't stir. Delphine bows forward as if in prayer and Leekie imagines that she's probably crying again, but the cascade of blonde curls obscures the woman's face. Leekie hasn't turned on the microphone in the room so he listens to the sound of his own breathing for a moment, his breath fogging up a circle of glass.

Dr. Leekie turns away from Cosima's room and walks to the other observation station directly across from it. The lights are brighter in this room and Leekie can clearly see the body of a young man lying in a hospital bed on the other side. A medical ventilator is hooked to the man's mouth and nose; the blue ventilator billows inflate and deflate, inflate and deflate. Leekie's eyes reflect the white shining light of the recovery room as he studies the prone body. The patient's face is distorted behind the plastic breathing mask,, but Leekie can still pick out recognizable features in the cheekbones, chin, and brow-line. The young man's face is framed by a short, gently furled mop of chestnut-colored hair.

Aldous smiles sadly and takes up the chart which hangs on the wall next to the window. He glances through the pages, eyes skimming briefly over the latest diagnostics. His brow furrows at what he's reading until he finally sighs and hangs the clipboard back in its place. The chart swings back and forth on the hook, the patient's name and tag number are clearly marked across the top: _Lincoln Braum, # 4B2147, Born: April 6, 1984_.

The _Eric Blair_ lists ever so slightly starboard as Siobhan guides the small fishing vessel out of Cardiff Bay into the Bristol Channel where the rolling black water seems to kiss the inky black of the sky. Once out of the shimmering lights of the wharf are slowly replaced by winking stars overhead.

Sarah sits in a weathered deck chair in the stern of the ship. Kira is curled up on her lap, sleeping against Sarah's chest; a thick wool blanket is tucked around both the little girl and her mother. Sarah presses her lips against the crown of Kira's head, breathing in the powdery scent of Kira's hair. She feels each breath as Kira's chest rises and falls against Sarah's own chest.

Felix has collapsed into a chair next to Sarah. His breaths are also slow and even, but he's still just barely awake, his eyes sliding slowly between Sarah and Kira to where Siobhan and Carlton stand in the ship's control room. Siobhan steers the ship out about ten kilometers from shore before she drops anchor and lets the ship settle into a soft rocking motion. She and Carlton are engaged in a deep conversation but their words are lost to those sitting in the stern.

The wind is gentle this evening, but cold and Sarah pulls the blanket more tightly around Kira and herself. To the north of the ship Cardiff glows and there is just a hint of dawning on the eastern horizon. Siobhan and Carlton walk out into the stern area. Carlton immediately collapses into a deck chair across from Sarah and Felix, but Mrs. S remains standing, looking down at Sarah and Kira.

"Do you want me to put her to bed? I have a room set up for her below."

"No. No, she's fine here with me for now," Sarah says protectively pulling Kira a little tighter. She has no desire to let the little girl out of her sight for a long time.

"Sarah -"

"Look, I don't want to keep rehashing this, Siobhan. I know you thought you were protecting her, but I can't forgive it. Not yet."

Mrs. S pulls her heavy sweater around her more tightly. The crisp breeze gently tugs a few strands of the older woman's hair free from the loose bun on the back of her head.

"I always planned to get in touch with you and Felix once the smoke had cleared and the danger past. I'd hope you both would join me wherever I ended up settling," Siobhan says, her Irish accent thick with both emotion and exhaustion. Felix stirs at his foster mother's words; he shifts in his chair and pulls up the collar on his jacket before shoving his hands back into his coat pockets. He says, "I told her you wouldn't take Kira without a damn good reason."

"No, indeed." Siobhan says firmly then more tentatively adds, "And were you able to get the answers you needed from Amelia, Sarah?"

Sarah stares at Mrs. S for a long, drawn out moment, nuzzling the top of Kira's head gently with her chin. Finally Sarah releases a breath and says quietly, "Amelia's dead. Helena killed her." Sarah shrugs sadly and adds, "I killed Helena."

Siobhan gasps then crouches down besides Sarah's chair, putting her hand on Sarah's blanket-covered arm. "I'm so sorry, Sarah. I know how much it meant to you to finally meet your birth mother."

"Yeah, it bloody well sucks." The younger woman's voice cracks with emotion. "Amelia told me something about you."

"Me?" Siobhan asks, leaning back on her heels just a little. Both women search the other's face before Sarah says, "Yeah, she told me you weren't who you said you were. She gave me a picture. Fee?" Sarah turns to her foster brother. He's already digging into his inner coat pocket and finally takes out a photo which he hands to Mrs. S. The older woman reaches into her own pocket and pulls out a cigarette lighter which she flicks on. Siobhan examines the picture by the soft glow of the flame. Her features settle into stone and her eyes seem to darken to a deep indigo. But she's not surprised; she'd seen the photo among Amelia's belongings and she'd been dreading this moment. Siobhan rears back from Sarah's chair, stands up, and sets the photo on fire with the lighter.

"Oi!" Sarah shouts, clawing an arm out the blanket to try to grab the flaming photo from Siobhan's hand. Mrs. S moves backward farther out of her reach, her eyes now gleaming like a nocturnal animal in the flare of the fire. Then she steps to the side of the fishing vessel and drops the still burning image over the side.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" Sarah demands and Kira stirs in her arms.

"Burning the last of what I thought I'd buried long ago," Siobhan says simply and she puts the lighter back into her pocket. She tugs her sweater tighter around her torso.

Sarah's anger rises and lifts her out of her chair. Kira stirs again in her arms, as if sensing the tension in her mother's body. "Mommy," the little girl murmurs under her breath."

"It's okay, Monkey. Go back to sleep." Sarah kisses her daughters cheek and looks over the top of the girl's head at Felix, who's eyes meet her own. "Fee, would you please take her down and put her in bed?" Felix looks back and forth between Sarah and Mrs S, who stands behind her. Both women's faces are glowering with thunder clouds.

"Why do I always miss out on the good stuff?" Felix asks, sighing. But he moves forward and takes Kira from Sarah, wrapping the girl up in the wool blanket snugly. He starts for the steps to the lower deck, pausing only briefly to say, "Come on", to Carlton who follows after him.

Sarah watches them go, then turns solidly on her heel toward Siobhan.

Far above a satellite blips across the night sky.

* * *

The red light on Rachel's cell phone lights up and the phone vibrates, just as the limo pulls up in front of the Scarborough Police Station. The blonde lowers the lid of her laptop and picks up the phone from the leather seat next to her. She raises an eyebrow at the man who sits across from her and nods her head towards the car door. The lawyer nods and hops out of the vehicle, swiftly closing the door behind him.

Rachel answers the phone. "Mother."

"I thought perhaps you would be sleeping," says the cool British voice on the other end of the line.

"No. Not yet." Rachel rubs her eyes briefly before straightening in her seat so the fatigue in her voice lessens. "It must be very early in London, Mother. Is something wrong?"

"It just came to my attention that your father has botched yet another extraction."

Rachel pinches the bridge of her nose. "Who?"

"Two actually: Gwendolyn McCray and Helena."

"Helena -"

"I've sent in two teams to take care of both situations. But I'm getting tired of constantly cleaning up after your father."

"I understand."

"Do you? His response to this current wave of attacks by the Prolethians has been lukewarm, at best. He's too caught up in the situation at Irvine." The bitterness in her voice gives Rachel the chills. "How is your own charge?"

"Fine. I'm outside the police station as we speak; Rosen has gone inside to get Mrs. Hendrix. Everything is well in hand."

"I certainly hope so, Rachel."

"Mother -"

"I am glad that you are safe. What happened when you went to see Sarah should never have happened. Is there any word yet on where Sarah might be now?"

"Not yet, but we're working on it."

"By 'we', I hope you don't mean your father." Rachel pauses and her mother hisses exasperatedly on the other end. "I'm putting you in charge of the situation, Rachel. I want things taken care of quickly before anyone else finds out about our little...project."

"Yes, Mother."

"Good. Now, kiss that granddaughter of mine goodnight for me - though why you couldn't have just left her with me this time -"

"I will, Mother. Goodnight." Rachel ends the call quickly, cutting off the rest of her mother's words. She takes a deep breath then looks out the window of the limo towards the station. A dark haired woman in a black leather jacket hurries out of the building. As the woman races past the limo, she pauses for just a moment to peer inside the vehicle as if surprised. On the other side of the opaque glass Rachel watches the woman squint in. Then the woman picks her teeth in the outer window's reflection and then hurries off, a string of profanities riding in her wake.

* * *

"Mon dieu!"

Delphine sits at the table in the lab, staring at the 3D monitor screen showing Sarah and Cosima's blood sample. She blinks.

"It can't be," she says under her breath, but she's already spinning out of her seat to grab Sarah's blood sample from the nitrogen cooler. She uses a syringe to carefully measure out a sample into a sterile test tube. Then she adds a fresh sample of Cosima's blood and a measured portion of the Tokyo serum to it. She caps the test tube and carefully loads it into the centrifuge. The machine whirls on.

Delphine pulls back the blue glove on her hand, just far enough to check the time on her wristwatch. Twenty minutes have passed since she left Cosima's bedside. She had only planned to be away for a few moments to grab Sarah and Kira's medical files so she could review them while she waited for Cosima to wake up. But then she had double checked the slide she had prepared earlier and had been staring at the results ever since.

Between the anesthetics and the pain killers, Cosima had still been unconscious when Delphine left her side and she imagined the young scientist would be out for a long time yet. But Delphine is anxious about being away from Cosima and she worries at her bottom lip the entire time the centrifuge mixes the samples together. After ten minutes the immunologist takes the test tube out and places a measured amount into a petri dish which she slides under the microscope. She stares at the screen again, blinking rapidly.

"Mon dieu!" Delphine jumps out of her chair, hurriedly slides the samples into the incubator and runs out of the lab in search of Dr. Leekie.

* * *

"Mrs. Hendrix?"

Alison looks up at the voice. The red emergency lights are still on and she is back in her holding cell after Detective Deangelis rushed her out of the interrogation room upon hearing about the shootings at the hospital. Alison isn't certain of all the details, but she's sure that Helena must be involved somehow. It always comes back to Helena.

"Mrs. Hendrix?" The man approaching the bars says again and Alison focuses her thoughts on him. He is neatly dressed in a three piece gray suit and carrying a black leather briefcase. A uniformed officer walks behind him.

"Yes?" Alison asks.

"Mrs. Hendrix, I'm Daniel Rosen, your attorney."

"My attorney?" Alison asks momentarily confused and then she adds, "Oh, thank God! Did my husband hire you?"

"Ma'am, I'll explain everything to you once we get you processed out of here." He looks expectantly at the officer, who opens the cell door and ushers Alison out.

"Come on, we need your signature on the release forms and we'll give you back your personal affects," the officer says, now leading both Alison and the lawyer out into the main station area. "Detective Deangelis will shit a brick when she realizes that you've been released, though," the cop adds under his breath.

"Give her my regards," Alison can't help but say through her smile. It takes fifteen minutes to process her out, Mr. Rosen tsking under his breath the whole time, anxious to get his new charge out of the station as soon as possible. And then they are finally outside and Alison breathes in the cool night air, smiling. Down the street she sees a work crew actively trying to fix a downed transformer. Then she spots the limo waiting at the curbside and Alison raises an eyebrow at the attorney as he ushers her towards it.

"Is this for us?" Alison asks.

"Yes. The Institute sent it, with their regards. They're also picking up my lawyer fees for you."

"The Institute - the DYAD Institute? As in Dr. Leekie?"

"That's right," Rosen says and opens the limo door so that Alison can climb in. The brunette takes a moment to smooth down her hair and then slides into the vehicle. Rosen slides in after her and closes the door.

"Mrs. Hendrix. It's a pleasure to finally meet you," the female voice says as Alison settles into her seat.

Alison starts at the words and then realizes that there is a woman sitting across from her in the limo. A woman with Alison's face but bobbed blonde hair and who is immaculately dressed in a severe black business suit and matching black heels. In fact everything about this woman is impeccable and Alison, in her currently rumpled state, can't help but feel a bit uncouth in comparison. The woman leans forward and offers a well-manicured hand. "My name is Rachel Duncan, head of the DYDAD Institute, London Division. Perhaps Sarah has mentioned me to you?"

Alison automatically shakes Rachel's hand. The soccer mom thinks about the smudges on her own hand and winces but says graciously, "Yes, she did. It's - uh - nice to meet you."

"First of all, Alison, - may I call you Alison?"

"Of course."

"Well then, Alison: first, let me say that we cannot apologize enough for the unfortunate assault that took place earlier today." The limo is moving now, but the ride is so smooth the only way Alison realizes it is that the streetlights are streaking by outside the window.

"It was my understanding when I signed the contract that certain 'elements' would be kept away from my family and me."

"Yes, and as I say, we can't apologize enough. We believed that Helena was dead and that the Prolethians had been temporarily, at least, hamstrung. Of course, the fact that you no longer have a monitor does present certain challenges to ensuring your safety." Rachel raises a hand to ward off any protests from Alison. "Not that I blame you for not wanting a monitor in your life. But we had hoped that you would keep us informed of any developments regarding your health or well-being. According to Sarah you received a threatening message at your home from the Prolethians several days ago?"

"You've spoken to Sarah?" Alison asks, almost squeaking.

"Yes, briefly. We had a little tête-à-tête in London the other day. But my point, Alison, is that we - that is Dr. Leekie and I - very much want you to view our agreement as a partnership. That means you keeping us abreast of any pertinent information that may affect your safety and well-being, such as the threat from the Prolethians."

"I was trying to protect my family -"

"Oh, of course, and you performed marvelously. Drink?" Rachel asks turning to the side board which holds a large selection of alcohol. "I know it's getting to be quite late, but a tonic might help calm your nerves, considering all you've been through today. Perhaps a nice Cabernet?"

"That would be lovely, thank you." Alison is starting to relax. Finally she is in her element with someone who is professional and courteous.

Rachel smiles, although the smile doesn't seem to reach her eyes. She unravels the foil around the bottle top and picks up the wine bottle opener as she continues, "Unfortunately, the attack has garnered much unwanted attention from the authorities. But that is our concern and, rest assured, we will do everything in our power to make certain that the charges against you are dropped and that your record is expunged. Mr. Rosen here is one of the finest lawyers available and will be working diligently on your case."

Alison glances over at the man who nods his head in her direction. Rachel has finally uncorked the wine and now she pours it out into three glasses which she hands out. Rachel sips the wine and makes a pleased 'mmm' sound, savoring the vintage. Alison follows suit.

"My favorite year from my favorite vineyard in France," Rachel says acknowledging the wine bottle. "Secondly, we also want you to know that we have taken care of the Helena situation once and for all."

"I heard there was an attack at the hospital," Alison says, then takes another sip of wine.

"Hmm, well, yes, that was unfortunate. The police didn't take Helena seriously enough and didn't secure her as well as they should. But our own team has neutralized the situation and we are presently cleaning up any residual effects. I have every confidence that we will be able to make that situation go away entirely."

"When you say 'neutralized', you mean -"

"The less you know about that particular situation, Alison, the better off for you."

"I'd like proof that she's been dealt with," Alison says flatly.

Rachel glances at Rosen who shifts slightly in his seat. The blonde purses her lips and looks back at Alison, then nods her head. "I'll make certain that you receive the necessary information to assuage your fears. Now, thirdly," Rachel continues, "we are addressing the Prolethian issue at large, but I must admit to you that we have come to the realization that their little 'cult' is actually more widely spread than we originally thought and that their plot against us is more complex."

"That's not very comforting -"

"No. But we are utilizing our extensive resources against them and I know we will prevail. Science always prevails over ignorance. However, it does lead me to item four, which is your personal safety. Clearly the Prolethians know where you live and until we take full control of them, your life will continue to be in danger. Therefore we would like to offer a temporary solution. As you know, according to the terms of our contract, you agreed to voluntarily submit to non-invasive bi-annual medical testing."

"Well, yes -"

"Please - we're asking that you return with me to the Irvine facility - just for a few days," Rachel says putting up a hand again. "Just until we get the situation firmly in hand and then we will bring you back home."

"My family -"

"Is safe. And will remain so. You are the one that the Prolethians care about and right now your presence in your family's lives is what might put them in danger. But to allay further concerns - we will put a protective team on your family. The team will remain undercover; your husband and children won't even know they're there."

"But my family will wonder where I've gone."

"We've thought of that as well. We're suggesting that you call your husband in the morning and tell him that you have voluntarily reprimanded yourself to the psychiatric ward at the hospital for evaluation."

"You're asking me to tell my family that I think I'm crazy? My mother will love that! Not to mention my neighbors," Alison says, getting agitated again. She can feel the wine already starting to go to her head; it's been so long since she'd put anything on her stomach that her usual resistance is down.

"Seeking professional psychological help after experiencing a trauma such as you went through is very normal - and expected. In fact, we would like you to speak with one of our therapists while you're at our facility; it will do you a world of good, I can assure you."

"And if I refuse?"

"You're not a prisoner, Alison," Rachel says simply. "But I strongly suggest for your safety and for the safety of your family that you accompany us back to our facility. And you'll be able to see Cosima again. I'm sure she would be glad to see you, as well."

Alison touches the crucifix which is back around her neck and glances out the window then back at Rachel. "You assure me that my family will be safe?"

"Of course."

"Then I agree. But you will have me back home by next Saturday." Her tone suggested there would be no further compromise.

"Yes, of course." Rachel smiles and leans forward, offering up the wine bottle. "More wine?"

* * *

"Please, Sarah - this is, Delphine," the immunologist says quickly into the phone. She has a hand in front of her mouth and her head is bent so that the phone is mostly obscured by her blonde tresses. "Sarah, I know I should only leave short messages - but it's Cosima - she's been shot. She's still in critical - the bullet, the bullet hit her chest and I'm so scared. I think - I think - Sarah, I think I've discovered something in your blood sample - from when they tested you thinking you were Beth - I think it might save Cosima; help heal her wound and help slow or maybe even reverse her respiratory disease. Sarah, I need more samples from you - we need to run a DNA sequence, analyze your blood. Please, Sarah, I can't come to you not with Cosima in her condition and not with them watching me. I know I'm asking you to risk everything, but I need you to come to Irvine so I can get more samples. Please, Sarah. Please, please - for Cosima…"

Delphine ends the call. Her eyes are glistening with tears as she looks up at Aldous who sits across from her at his desk. Leekie smiles and offers up the palm of his hand to the immunologist.

"Well done," he says as Delphine puts the cell phone into his hand. His fingers close over the black phone and Delphine stifles a sob. "You did the right thing," he says looking at the phone in his hand. "I always suspected you and Cosima had a way to contact the others. I'll let you know when Sarah calls back."

"We still have a great deal of testing to do and even then there's no guarantee that Sarah's genetic material will help Cosima."

"But from what you've discovered so far, it's the best lead we have. And convincing Sarah she needs to come to us will help keep her safe."

"She might not come," Delphine replies, caught between hope and regret.

"No. But I think she will; for Cosima."

"They'll think I've betrayed them again," Delphine rasps. She covers her face with her hands and, this time, she does sob as the waves of guilt pound against the inside of her chest.

* * *

The fishing ship rocks gently in the rolling waves, oblivious to the storm brewing on the aft deck.

"You know, burning everything down doesn't mean that what was there before never existed," Sarah admonishes Siobhan, tilting her head port side where Siobhan had dropped the burning picture into the channel. "The photo: I know it was of you. And Project Leda: you were involved in some kind of science experiment." Sarah's voice is raw with hurt and Siobhan turns away. But Sarah pushes on, "Carlton told me that it was you who sent him to find me in the orphanage all those years ago."

Mrs. S shakes her head and looks skyward. "I'll bloody well strangle that git!"

"What's going on Siobhan? I'm so, so very tired of all this bullshit! Everyone knows more about my life than I do!"

Siobhan turns around, her face worn and sad. She regards Sarah, long and hard, then she seems to deflate in on herself and practically crumbles into a deck chair. She rubs her hands together against the cold night air, saying, "It's a long story."

Sarah sits on the arm of the chair next to Mrs. S. "Tell me. I deserve to know, Mrs. S."

A myriad of emotions flit across Siobhan's face as she gathers her thoughts. Then she begins, "I've never told you and Felix about my life before I came to Brixton, before I devoted my life to helping people escape the social tyranny of Thatcher's ministry. I grew up in Northern Ireland. My father worked in a diesel engine manufacturing plant. We were poor, but we never really felt it - everyone was poor - and my parents always encourage me and my siblings to do well in school and make something better for ourselves. It turns out that I excelled at learning, particularly in science and math. I even earned a scholarship to the National University of Ireland in Galway where I studied Developmental Biology. In those days it was almost unheard of for women to go into the sciences. I was only one of two women in the program; it made us both the target of a lot of attention - good and bad - from the male students and even some of the faculty. But I was a serious student and only had eyes for my studying until I met Bennett Sadler – he was in my Chemistry class junior year and oh he was soft on the eyes that one. He was also British and at that time there was open hostility between the Irish and the colonists. But I forgot all that whenever I saw him." She smiles. "He was so shy and studious - the smartest boy at University - and so socially awkward. I'm almost ashamed to admit I stalked him around campus, hoping he'd notice me. Until one day I'd finally had enough of hoping and just went up to him and asked him out on a date."

"Bennett - your husband - you've only mentioned him a couple of times to Fee and me. You always had that picture of him up on the living room wall, but whenever we asked, you'd tell us to mind our own business."

Siobhan nods and looks off towards the lights of Cardiff. "Aye, it still breaks my heart all these years later to think of him. He was my everything and I would have followed him anywhere. In fact I did. We were married straight out of undergrad and we both went on to the University of Aberdeen for graduate school. Bennett studied Human Genetics and I studied Human Embryology. Ironically I found out a year after I started grad school that I was infertile: we'd planned on starting a family as soon as grad school was finished. I wanted to have children of my own so badly: I think it's part of what drove my interest in the field of in vitro fertilization. Of course it was just a theory at the time. It became not only my thesis, but my obsession."

"We both obtained our doctorates in '74: we were still so young and passionate about our chosen career paths. Representatives from the Dias Centre, a government-funded medical research lab based out of Cambridge approached us right after graduation. They offered us both jobs. At the time it seemed like a dream; we were so excited to be working on the same project together."

"Project Leda," Sarah breathes the name. Siobhan looks up at her, startled, as if she's forgotten that Sarah is there.

"Yes. Project Leda."

"What kind of research was it?"

"We were trying to discover a viable in vitro fertilization process. It was a project that combined my love of science with my desire to someday have children of my own and, I have to say, I became lost in the research. Do you know that the first successful IVF trial was credited to the physiologist Dr. Robert Edwards in 1978 with the birth of Louise Brown?"

"Uh, I must have missed that day in class, yeah."

"Well, our team was two years ahead of Dr. Edwards, but our research was top secret, as was our success. In fact, the next step in our research was to increase our success rate, which we had done by some thirty-eight percent by the time of Dr. Edward's successful trial. At about the same time, Bennett and two of the other geneticists were pulled off the project and assigned to a different, highly-classified project; he wasn't even allowed to tell me what he was working on.

He was spending long hours at the lab, longer even than I was, and he would come home so haggard. He would barely speak two words to me before drinking himself to sleep. He started having nightmares; he would wake up screaming in the middle of the night. It terrified me, but he refused to tell me what was wrong. Of course I suspected it was all related to the project he was working on and I begged him to quit, but he wouldn't. Now I think that they had threatened him with what would happen if he left. About a year into the research he came home one evening in a state of sheer panic and he told me we had to make a run for it. He was so scared I didn't even question him, we packed a few of our clothes and left. We ended up running to my family back in Ireland.

Now you have to remember that it was a time of great violence in Northern Ireland; the brief cease fire between the Provisional IRA and the British government had collapsed and there were bombings and shootings; people were dying every day on both sides. My brothers were IRA and while they hated Bennett - merely on principal - they agreed to hide us. Bennett was certain that the Centre would send soldiers after us, which is exactly what they did. We eluded them for several months, moving from safe house to safe house but they finally caught up to us at a farmstead outside of Ballybofey and Stranorlar. The military police stormed the house and Bennett was shot and killed instantly." Siobhan's voice breaks. She closes her eyes for a brief moment to collect herself and then continues, "My brothers dragged me to the barn where they decided to make a last stand. They made me hide in a cement crawl space under one of the horse stalls used for smuggling guns. I don't know exactly what happened then, but my guess is that my brothers realized that they were out-manned and lured the soldiers into the barn before they set off a series of homemade bombs. All I know is that the ground shook and both my eardrums exploded when the concussive blasts went off. I was knocked unconscious and when I came to, I crawled out of the bunker to find the barn on fire - everyone was dead. I barely made it out of the barn myself before the whole structure collapsed. I fled, eventually ending up in Brixton where Anwin and her people took me in."

The two women sit in silence for a long time. Questions are already forming on Sarah's lips, but Mrs. S is in obvious pain, grieving her husband and brothers. No wonder the woman had built walls up around her past.

Sarah touches Siobhan's hand and asks, "Did Bennett ever tell you what the project actually was?"

Siobhan casts her eyes around, looking at her hands, up at the sky, at the water, the hatchway, anywhere but at Sarah. Finally she says, "They - they were trying to create genetically modified human clones. Bennett said the early trials were - horrific. He couldn't stand to remain a part of it."

Sarah nods, she had guessed the answer long ago, but she still needs to know more. "Why did they want to create them?" _"Create us?" _she thinks.

Siobhan lets out a long breath and she finally looks up at Sarah with shimmering eyes. "The research program was called Project Nemesis. Bennett thought their end aim was to create a new breed of human soldiers; intelligent yet controllable, resistant to disease, quick to heal. Sarah - the DYAD Institute sprang directly out of the Dias Centre; I've always suspected the institute was created specifically for the purposes of continuing on where Project Leda and Project Nemesis left off."

"But I'm not a soldier. Neither are Cosima or Alison. In fact we're far from it," Sarah laughs.

"And Helena?"

"Helena was just plain crazy. Though, admittedly, she was also freakishly strong and way too knowledgeable about how to kill people. But she was raised that way, I don't think it was based on her nature – I mean look at me."

A muscle twitches in Siobhan's cheek and she says, "Do you remember the last time you were sick, Sarah?"

"Well –"

"Because I can't. Not once since I took you in. And do you remember that time you fell off the swing set when you were ten? You must have been fifteen feet high and thrown at least another fifteen feet away – the back of your head hit the blacktop so hard I thought for certain that you were dead; there was so much blood. But by the time I got you to the hospital, you were talking and laughing like nothing had happened. There were no wounds underneath all the dried blood and the X-rays showed no damage to your skull."

"Just like Kira," Sarah breaths. She blinks away tears and Siobhan nods.

"Sarah, maybe the DYAD wasn't trying to make super soldiers. Maybe they just wanted to see if they could turn mortals into gods."

On the eastern horizon the sun starts to peak above the far shore, scattering blue across the sky and chasing the remaining stars back into the unseen blackness beyond.


End file.
